


These Quiet Times

by DaisyofGalaxy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, First Christmas, Gen, M/M, Post- Blood and Wine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8951506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyofGalaxy/pseuds/DaisyofGalaxy
Summary: “Everyone in Kaer Morhen knows how to celebrate Yule. Maybe except for Vesemir who enjoyed it a bit too much. He made me and others sing to all the trees in the forest. I was maybe ten. I froze my bottom off. So did four others. But he paid his price. Nenneke badgered him till spring.”Geralt organises his first unassisted Yule. Issues follow.





	1. Snowflake

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas was swapped for Yule to keep the consistency with the books.

It was snowing. A stream of tiny ice crystals has been falling ceaselessly, covered the yard under a thick layer of glistering fluff, decorated greyish windowsills and flat rooftops, painted icy flowers on the window panes. There was something beautiful if not miraculous in it, Yennefer noticed, surprised with her own soppiness. There was indeed something marvellous in how little it took to mask all the dirt, all of the infirmity, all  the imperfection the world bore. Even Kaer Morhen, vile and cold regardless of the weather, could now enrapture with its harsh beauty.

She made another step and pressed her fingertips to the glass. A frosty wind blew through the cracks in the windows, dabbed her cheeks and tickled them. The sorceress didn’t fall back just yet. She corrected the black dressing gown hanging from her shoulders, tugged it tighter around her nightdress and continued looking.

“What did I say about peeping?” she grunted loudly.

She turned around and looked straight at Geralt. He stood in the middle of a sandstone arch and stared at her. The shoddy red jumper he had on him glared. The enchantress rolled her eyes. Sophisticated outfits always elicited aversion in him but hideous clothes from village fairs? Those he could wear always.

 “Thought you might fancy some breakfast in bed,” he explained, pointing at the tray in his hands. A little vase with few twigs of daphne he had put on it quavered and then fell.

She thanked him with a single nod and smiled subtly, once again overcoming the fear to show she was grateful. Gratitude wasn’t anything that had come naturally. A part of her would quite likely always look for a catch or a tenuous sign of self-interest and hidden motives. The rule to which she had stuck for years now. So far it had never let her down.

Geralt approached without a word, placed the tray on the bed and joined at last by the window.

 “There is no snow like this in Toussaint.” He exhaled after a brief moment of contemplation.

“There’s no snow in Toussaint to start with,’’ Yennefer corrected him, recalling cloudless skies and the evergreen olive grove of Corvo Bianco. The time spent in the royal gardens of Beauclair or nefariously wasted on reading chick lit. And _him_ , pruning grape vines, shirtless and swarthy from the sizzling sun. She pushed those thoughts aside. This was not the time nor the place for such reflections. “How is the vineyard doing?” she asked instead.

 “Splendid, thank you. Olives are mellowing slowly. Barnabas-Basil says they should be ripe in two weeks’ time. You can always check for yourself, you know?”

“We discussed this already,” she cut him coldly, but eased off a little seeing him flinch. “I’ve just got my practice back. Things are coming back to normal. I’ve never even dared to dream about it but it really seems I can win back what I’ve lost, what was dishonestly taken away. It’s a great chance…”

“I understand, Yen,” he interrupted with no less chill than she did. “This is your life. Always has been. Only fool would think that a prospect of marriage can change a thing. I’m just for a bit surprised, I must admit. Wasn’t expecting the confraternity to salvage you so quickly.”

“The Lodge has nothing to do with it.”

Geralt didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her. He just stood there with his arms crossed and _that_ look on his face. The one she hated so much. An unsweet, childish combination of contempt and disappointment. On the field of condescending grimaces and stares, Geralt remained an unquestionable champion.

“Is that why you invited me? So I could listen to your whining,” she growled. The diamond ring on her finger itched and seemed to be even tighter than usual. She felt an heartfelt urge to take it off.

Geralt was still silent but the silly expression disappeared to Yennefer’s huge satisfaction. “Yen, would you be honest if I asked you a question?” he choked up then, almost whispering.

“I’m always honest, Geralt,” she whispered too.

“Will this-” he started but paused. He took few deep breaths but didn’t use them on pondering.

Whatever he wanted to ask her about was decided already, she had heard it in his thoughts and had seen it twinkle in in his eye, tremble at the corner of his lips. He didn’t yet knew how to say it aloud and this is where the problem was. Because there was no way to ask this sort of question rightly. Because once a question like this was asked nothing ever stayed the same.


	2. The Armoury

2 days earlier

 

“Dining hall,” slurred Geralt. “Dining hall of Kaer Morhen. The very same table by which Rennes and others dinned, conversed and made decision critical for the entire witcher society. And you-”

“Don’t grumble,” Yennefer interrupted him. A white cloud of moisty air escaped her lips and hung in the air for a good while, making her realise how cold it must be.

Geralt must have noticed it too. He gripped the thick, checked blanket and spread it over them just when she was about to do it herself. They went silent for a very long moment then, letting their breaths and heartbeats come back to their regular pace, waiting and resting.

“Kitchen, library, Lambert’s room. Did you miss anything?” Geralt broke the silence, leisurely putting his hands behind his head.

“I?” She tilted her head and glanced at him. Her fingers guided along the three circular scars the pitchfork left, then mischievously downwards.  “I think you’ve enjoyed it no less than I did,” she whispered.

Geralt was silent, but his eyes didn’t fear hers. They were fixed on hers and judged her. She tried to read his feelings but couldn’t guess even a single one. “The is no living soul around, so we don’t need to be careful tonight. Someone may catch us one day. And it won’t be pleasant,” he explained himself at last, as if suspecting her inability to clarify things on her own.

Yennefer chuckled lightly. “Maybe,” she purred, slipping in very deep under the blanket. “Maybe they will. But as you said - not tonight.”

 

They started in the dining room, but it didn’t take long. Before either of them knew what was going on, they were in the larder already. Then in the baths and in the evening hall. Then in the armoury. From all rooms they tried that day, the armoury was the worst. Neither of them complained however on the cold or bricks and rusted swords falling on their heads. They had better things to do.

 

“So you’ve never celebrated Yule. Not even once?” gasped Geralt, falling next to her on the blankets spread cosily in the window bay.

He asked her again. And again, Yennefer didn’t reply. She fixed her eyes even harder on the huge hole in the ceiling, watched the stars glittering at the perfectly clear night sky, not peeking at him, not saying a word. Was it really so hard to comprehend, she thought with reproach.

Her family never felt the need to do so. For her father it remained solely an excuse to get plastered. Things didn’t get any better in Aretuza. The academy had celebrated of course. The entire school had caved in under the weight of decorations. The corridors and chambers had been depopulating. Her friends had returned to their homes, to cherish, to spend that time together with their families. Yennefer, however, had never been invited. And maybe it was Geralt’s stories, so colourful and whatsoever cheerful that made the blood in her veins boil, she concluded. Maybe it was it, mundane human jealousy.

Geralt didn’t say a word. Still she could feel his lips against her arm, his warm breath on her skin, just enough to assure he was there and that he would not go anywhere. Sometimes silence was better than words, she had learnt long ago. Silence let down less often than words did.

 “You’re in safe hands then,” he retorted after a good while. “Everyone in Kaer Morhen knows how to celebrate Yule. Maybe except for Vesemir who enjoyed it a bit too much. He made me and others sing to  all the trees in the forest. I was maybe ten. I froze my bottom off. So did four others. But he paid his price. Nenneke badgered him till spring.”

 “No offence but I’ve never pictured Vesemir as a sentimental type. Certainly would never accuse him of practising pagan rituals.”

“You’d be surprised. He always loved it,” said Geralt, with an odd but completely understandable note of sadness. A lonely snowflake fell from the rotten logs and landed on his cheek with grace.

Yennefer reached her hand and brushed it off before it melt. “Do you miss him?” she asked, regretting instantly her offhandedness.

Apparently entirely without reason. Geralt didn’t abash even a little. He didn’t grimace nor cringe. His only reply was a quiet sigh. A sigh followed by a question.

“Yen, did you miss Tissaia when she-”

“Yes, I think I did,” she whispered, decorating her reply with a long moment of silence. “I think this was exactly what I felt.”

Finding the right words to describe what she had felt wasn’t an easy task. Quite likely, an impossible one. It was much more than one, plain emotion. It contained grief and cold emptiness, a bit of paralysing fear, but mostly rage. Lots of rage of being left in the lurch. 

The answer while trivial, appeared to satisfy Geralt. He didn’t asked another one. He only got himself up and helped her do the same. If not the years spent together, maybe he could even fool Yennefer, maybe he could make her not notice the subtle changes and nuances. But she knew him too well not to see how he frown and how the corner of his lips trembled gently.

Without a word, she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He responded to her touch with his touch, kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer to him. He aided her to twirl and wrapped the blanket around them. His mind emitted as always the same cordial message. The one quite familiar but as ever brand new in the same time. Today notes of nostalgia and affection predominated.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” whispered Yennefer after a moment, releasing her hand from under the thick fabric and guiding her finger along the cloudy window pane. “Lambert is coming. Most likely without Keira since she’s _busy_. A terrible excuse to avoid family drama, I must say. Still, won’t complain. One serving less to prepare.”

“Are you planning to _actually_ cook?’ Geralt cut her, shifting and fidgeting like a fish out of its tank.  

His astonishment made the sorceress chuckle. “No darling, our supper is likely ready or shortly will be. When you and your _brothers in trade_ spent lots on liquor, I planned and acted. Just need to collect it, what I which do. Eventually. Now witcher, let me finish.”

Geralt had no slightest interest in listening. At least not to the guest list, it appeared. “What did you order?” he asked with a hint of excessive as for an adult enthusiasm.

“Plenty to choose from,” she explained, weighing her words and teasing him with them.  “Sure, something will catch your eye. Ciri lounges in Ellander but promised to show up. She keeps insisting she’s not a patient there but we’ll see.“

Geralt hand balled around hers. She didn’t protest; even let him instruct its movements. An effigy of a deer with long, palatial antlers started to emerge not long after. “Carrot and Orange soup?” he grunted.

“As long as you don’t mind ginger. I swear, I won’t be answerable for my actions if she’s injured again. I was so relieved when you started to consider retirement. Now I have both you and her to worry about. Eskel is coming too.”

Geralt hesitated before speaking again. He cleared his throat first, leant in and blew soundly at the tile of glass. A new milky layer of fog arose. “It was just a scratch,’’ he started shyly.

Just a scratch but  yet Yennefer felt the blood in her veins run cold. One could assume that years spent in the company of a witcher would make one less sensitive to fear but nothing could be further from the truth. This way of life simply gave those fears a certain shape; converted them into a zeulg’s teeth and ghoul’s clutches, or enormous wings of manticore. More often now, it also gave them a face of another human being.

“Don’t think about it, Yen,” he offered in a tentative, but honest manner.

She nodded and he came back to his previous task, to decorating the window with another image and amusing her as always with his hopeless romantics. “Did you by any chance remember about pork pies?” he asked after a long moment.

She peeked at him and couldn’t comprehend how they could be so different. He, always carefree and optimistic, drawing on the glass while she was tearing her hair out. They were a terrible mixture to raise a child. Somehow however it worked out just perfect. Because at the end of the day, she couldn’t even imagine to take that journey with anyone else.

 “Two dozens of pork pies. And some fried honey cakes.” She replied, letting a smile creep onto her lips and expecting him to do the same. She knew how much he adored those cakes. Both Ciri and he liked them.

She turned around then, snuggled up to him and patiently watched how her finger carved another picture. This one however she couldn’t guess. Not yet at least.


	3. The Intruder

The sensation of ice cubes on his cheeks and neck has woken Geralt up from his blissful sleep. He shifted vehemently, brushing what turned out to be hands of terrified Yennefer and instinctively got himself up to sitting position.

“Yen, what’s going on?” he blurted dimly, looking in her violet eyes which reflected fear and the light of fireplace.

The sorceress sat down on the bed as well, glanced at her exposed curves and wrapped the thick duvet around herself. The activity was absolutely unnecessary and amused the witcher, but he didn’t say a word. He knew too well that any comment like this would not be appreciated.

“I think there is someone beside us in the castle,” she whispered quietly, as if the intruder somehow knew where they were and waited for their next move. The chances of such turn of events while existing were slim, almost neglectable. Besides they were expecting guests after all. This Geralt didn’t dare to mention too. Only a fool would dare to reason with Yennefer’s logic.

Without a word, he rose from the bed and begun to look for his garments.

“What you think you’re doing?” Yennefer metallic voice rung in the air.

Geralt picked up his shirt from the ground and pulled it through his head.  “I’ll go and check. You’ll stay here, alright?” he explained, leant in and left a soft kiss to her forehead. To his surprise, she didn’t protest.

 

Geralt hadn’t believed in the story with trespassers even for a moment and maybe that was why his first choice was the castle’s kitchen. After all, what better place had the castle to offer for a weary traveller?

He didn’t even have to enter the room to know he caught the intruders red handed. The dim light coming from the chamber betrayed their presence perfectly. So did the sounds of pots and glass jars rearranged in hurry.

He entered the room like a shadow. The man with two swords pegged down to his back didn’t even notice he wasn’t alone anymore. He was way too busy with his beaker and scouring through the larder. Geralt couldn’t help but feel a gentle pang of his heart when he spotted the trays with his favourite honey cakes, empty.

“Curious what Keira will do when she finds out you came back to night gluttony,” he mumbled at last, conspicuously crossing his arms. “If she doesn’t, Yennefer will enlighten you surely on the value of sharing.” He really wished she would. And that she would conjure another tray of honey cakes.

The other witcher sighed, put the tray with duck pies aside and turned on his heels. “Maybe she won’t,” he offered with a mischievous smile on his lips.

“Maybe she won’t,” replied Geralt, giving the other man a bear hug.

 

 

“So, she broke the engagement and left to Vengerberg?” gurgled Lambert, finishing up another pint of spiced cider.

Geralt took a glance at the scum of white foam hanging from the other’s man upper lips, shook his head and took a sound gulp himself. “She didn’t. Still hundred percent positive to do it,” he replied very sadly. Now as he finally had a chance to say it aloud, the story seemed to be even more depressing.

“This is why I’ll never propose to Keira. The sorceresses are nuts.”

“Some of them aren’t,” Geralt cut him off like an older, more experienced sibling corrects their younger one. In the same time, Lambert was right. Yennefer while sweet and charming when she wanted to be, often chose to show to the world her other side. Unfortunately, he was still the world. “Let’s not talk about it. She can come here any minute,” he added, taking another sip.

“Not talk about what?” he heard a familiar voice call in the distance and in spirit thanked his stars for having mercy on him once again. The situation was daunting enough without an open fight. He even started to suspect this Yule might have been their first and the last at the same time. The ceasefire while likely only temporary solution, somehow gave him peace.

“About Lambert’s terrible habits,” he replied and made Yennefer a place by the table.

The enchantress shot him with a harsh stare. Still it was far more  than she offered Lambert. At him she didn’t even peek.

“Frankly, I couldn’t care less,” she snarled, correcting the black sleep robe which highlighted nicely her thin waist and shapely legs. Geralt noticed with puppyish excitement she hadn’t worn anything beneath it. “I see you in bed. In twenty minutes,” she directed then, specifically to him.

Geralt nodded obediently.

“Apparently, greetings are passé these days. Thought she would ease off a little,” whispered Lambert, when Yennefer’s silhouette disappeared from the sight. “She had a reason before. The business will Triss and everything. But you made it up to her. More than paid back actually. Whatever she’s playing in with you now is a pure ill will. If she didn’t cancel the wedding yet, steal her thunder. Show the witch her place.”

Geralt was silent, took another gulp from his chalice and looked around the room.

 “I’d better be going,” he choked up after a long moment, weighting each word and biting his tongue.

Lambert nodded and picked his chalice too. “But you’re helping me with the tree tomorrow, right?” he offered, pointing at the lonely topiary standing in the corner. Surprisingly, Geralt didn’t notice it until now.

He agreed silently, rose from his seat and headed to the exit, not turning around nor peering even once. He had to try hard. He fought with himself not to come back and blurt out what he really thought or how he felt, or that he had no slightest interest in listening to Lambert’s backbite or anyone else’s. That it was Yennefer’s side he would always choose. That he would always choose _her._ That it was always only Yennefer and _w_ hoever didn’t like that idea could take it and shove it. He wanted to do it so much, but didn’t say a word.

 

 

Instead, he left the kitchen. He slipped into his and Yennefer’s bedroom and laid down beside her in the bed, without a word, casually.

“I wasn’t expecting you to show up at all. Not when I saw him, ” she blurted not long after, turning over and taking a good glance at him, likely assessing how much he had drunk. Yennefer hated seeing him drunk. She absolutely loathed it.

“April 18th,” she whispered after a brief pause. Geralt didn’t reply straight away. He wanted to check what else she had to offer, about what did she was thinking. His instincts didn’t let him down. “Not the worst day for a wedding, don’t you think?”

“No, Yen. It’s quite a good date,” he replied.

“Can we get married on April 18th?”

“I think we can,” he said.

Yennefer clung to him almost instantly, wrapped her limbs around his frame like tentacles. He held her in his arms until she fell back to sleep, listened to her sweet confessions and requited them, thought about April. And about every other month they would spend together. And somehow, totally unaware when, he forgot completely about everything that happened in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. The next chapters will emerge hopefully. Not in the nearest future however.


	4. Chapter 4

Another dawn had come. Hundreds of languid beams sneaked through the windows and holes in the walls, shimmered in the air and decorated the chambers of Kaer Morhen with a warm, golden halo.

That morning Geralt took his time and he paid the price. The day started for him with a vague memory of familiar lips on his cheek and a bleak realisation that the other spot in the bed was empty. There was also a letter on the pillow which recommended in a rather homey manner a bath and breakfast downstairs.

He washed the initial failure away with a long bath, forgetting for a moment about the piercing cold around him. Not long after, he had to dress in hurry, all at sudden remembering about it again. Then at last, he headed downstairs. Straight to the kitchen smelling of ham and cheese omelettes – a mandatory item at the list of Midwinter activities.

He didn’t pass the threshold. His legs seemed to be embedded in the marble floor and didn’t want to move. So did his eyes hanging on the scene they were witnessing.

Triss Merigold in the flesh, watched over the sizzling pans and skillets that morning. She was sweet and gorgeous as ever. Her brown fur vest matched perfectly the colour of her hair and gave her an almost vulpine elegance. The only difference was her hair. Long, straight tresses had become curlier and no more reached beyond the line of her shoulders. The entire arrangement was finished off with a subtle gold brooch. 

“Can you come here please? I’m going to damage another one,”  she called out of the blue. Not to Geralt however. A man oddly similar to Eskel emerged from the other part of the kitchen, moved closer and flipped the disobedient cake.

Geralt wanted to join them but then Eskel placed his robust hands firmly at Triss’ waist. He touched boldly the skin of her neck with his lips. Suddenly all the courage left Geralt.

 

###

 

“Sure you don’t need a drink, Geralt?” asked Eskel, biting down on a smile.  

Geralt remained quiet. His eyes as on the blink couldn’t focus on anything other than Eskel and Triss’ intertwined hands. “How did it happen?” he choked up, to his tough luck aloud.

“And how does it usually happen, Geralt?” Lambert grunted in between sips of fortified wine. His eyes seemed unnaturally red in the cold air. Perhaps alcohol or sleepless night were to blame. Most likely both. “Advances and compliments. And plenty of persistence. Might be surprised but not everyone has a djinn to help.”

“You don’t say, Lambert,” chuckled Geralt and filled his mouth with a sound bite of omelette. Eskel accompanied him with a rhythmical nods of his head. “Besides, the second djinn took the curse off. We’re still together, so what’s your point?”

“You basically answered your own question.”

“Did I?”

“Sometimes a djinn is not required,” Triss barged in, still goggling at the man sitting beside her. Something unfamiliar and strangely intriguing hided in her gaze. Something Geralt had never seen before. Well, anytime other than that one time he had witnessed them cooking.  “It hits you one day. Like a lightning bolt. You think you know the person inside out. Then you realise you know nothing at all.”

“You sure it’s not a curse or a spell, Triss,” Lambert interrupted with a nasty smirk on his lips.

The sorceress however didn’t seem to let any trivialities bug her that morning. “I’ll go change. You promised me ice skating, remember?” she told Eskel, dressing her words in the sweetest notes. Her long, tinted eyelashes flicked like a butterfly’s wing, lured but in the same time forewarned about consequences of refusal. Eskel could not be aware, but Geralt’s adept eyes recorded everything. 

 

###

 

“It’s hard to believe something small like this can cost so much,” mumbled Eskel, putting the ring back to its box. He was definitely a man of taste. A showy sapphire glittered even in the company of white gold and the aureole of tiny diamonds. In comparison, Yennefer’s ring looked like a scanty relative.

“Don’t want to scare you but it’s just the tip of the iceberg. Expensive gifts aside, your life will undergo significant modifications. Plethora of compromises and silent devotion follows. A long term relationship is a hard work.”

The witcher blew out a loud breath. “I know, Geralt.”

 “What’s next? Going to start a family life with Deidre or fishing for another Surprise Child? I bet both. Always trying to outplay Geralt, aren’t you? ” Lambert snorted, glancing at his jug and pretending that the object costing an equivalent of at least ten witcher contracts didn’t bother him even one ounce.

Geralt confronted him with a subtle, albeit readable smile. Then he pushed aside the bottle of wine the other man almost cradled. “Isn’t it a bit too early to make things official?” he directed to Eskel.

A sad grin creeped onto the witcher’s lips. “Maybe,” he growled, hiding the box back into his pocket. “ Maybe I’m wrong, but can one ever know for sure? Maybe she’ll turn out to be a bloodlust man-eater or maybe I’ll become a git. Maybe we won’t be happy at all. I don’t know yet. What I know is that the last fourteen months were the best time of my life.”

“Fourteen?” asked Lambert, for the first time that morning visibly interested. “So it has started-”

“Yes, it began only few weeks after Geralt and Yennefer had got back together,” replied Eskel. His composure erased the childish smile from Lambert’s lips. “I’m not proud of it. But it’s not how it looks like either. None took advantage on the other. For most of the time we were friends. She really needed a friend. She was so vulnerable when you-”

“Not that I judge that,” Geralt cut him off. He was getting tired of those recurring comments. He had been doing everything he was asked but atonement seemed always out of reach. “When will you ask her then?”

Eskel rubbed his forehead with the top of his hand. “As soon as everyone is here. I’m so tired, I tell you. Every time we’re together I recite in spirit _10 green bottles_. By now, she must think I’m a freaking enthusiast of recycling.”

“Or a habitual consumer of alcohol,” Lambert interrupted.

Geralt fixed him with a cold stare and confiscated the bottle which somehow ended up in the witcher’s hands again.  “Listen to your heart. Sounds soppy, I know… For the sake of the mission, I recommend everyone to recite in spirit as often as possible.”

“When will Ciri be here?” asked Eskel after a while.

“Tonight most likely.”

“Tonight,” he sighed, tapping the countertop of the table with his fingertips. “From tonight onward we may always be together.”

“Or you may not,” Lambert snarled. “You’ve chosen yourself a wrong audience, you bloody moron. The fellow sorceresses don’t tolerate each other if you haven’t paid attention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The relationship between Eskel and Triss has intrigued me for a long while, hence I decided to give it a try in this story. Hope you'll enjoy this little puzzle.


	5. Chapter 5

“Enough of these pirouettes,” Triss heard Eskel complain as he slowly approached her at the frozen surface of the lake. The sorceress fruitlessly tried not to giggle. The view was hilarious and didn’t fit well to the nibble as a tiger witcher.

“It’s called a Single Axel,”  she offered and reached her hand in his direction. Before long they were both sitting on the lonely wooden bench nearby. “Thought you know how to ice skate,” she gasped, untying the white laces of her skates. Eskel passed her one of her regular footwear.

“Never said I knew how to. You implied so and I didn’t disabuse you.”

“Point taken,” she replied, pressing herself to the witcher’s arm and capturing his lips with hers. She liked those delicate lips of his very much. Although stolid and diffident at times, they provided something she couldn’t fight against. Something she always longed for and which until now could not name.

His adorable insecurity and inexperience, and every other feeling he had for her were for her use only. For the first time in many years, she didn’t have to think about the raven-haired sorceress and it made her the happiest person alive.

 “Chiffchaff,” he breathed out dreamingly with his lips pressed to the line of her hair.

The sorceress chuckled. “What is it about- this chiffchaff business,” she snorted with a fake note of rancour. Eskel dished her up a packing of _Pearls_. A caloric snack made of roasted corn and molasses and an inseparable plank of their meetings. “Does my shape remind you of it?”

Eskel did not answer for a long moment, only shifted a little so he could look her in the eyes. “Its name. E ris an aitheamh in Elder speech. You know what that means?”

“It’s thawing or the thaw is here.”

“Exactly. You are my thawing.”

“And you’re mine.”

They both went silent. The sorceress watched the pair of swans dance around each other in the only not frozen part of the lake. The birds’ white wings stepped out of the greyish background and resembled a feathery sails. Swans mate for life, she reflected. Why people could not be like swans?

“I have something for you,” Eskel awoke her from her contemplation. He reached for the pocket of his trousers and retrieved from it a small wooden box.

Triss opened it without hesitation. Inside it, on a piece of black paper sat a wooden ladybug. Its wire limbs moved gently along with the blowing wind. “Found it at the fair in Kovir. Thought about you almost instantly. It’s a silly thing. Back when Geralt and I were kids. Wanted you to have one.”

“Did you have one like this too?”

“Yes, but a green beetle. Geralt had a potato bug. Pretty spot-on choice. He was one heck of a sorehead back then,” he chuckled.

Triss laughed too, because everything was different. Because she could talk about _him_ without feeling like she was about to suffocate. Because the memory of _him_ could again bring happiness. Because Geralt was now only a long gone past.

 

* * *

 

 

The sweet scent of resin filled up the hall and masked almost entirely the odour of mildew and dust. All thanks to one modest sapling. Well, maybe not exactly.  Due to a simple spell, the tree now proudly reached the vault, making Yennefer strangely rapt.

The task took the sorceress much longer than she originally desired but it didn’t bother her at all. Just as the absence of the person responsible for dealing with the tree didn’t irritate her. Minutes passed in obliviousness and somehow, not certain why and how either, dressing the tree seemed to almost gladden her.

‘’The star is crooked,” mumbled Geralt and passed another ornament.        

It was his third comment in the last few minutes, but Yennefer yet didn’t grant him with anything other than a silent acknowledgement. She continued to work at her own pace, minding that while perhaps not dangerous, a fall from not-so-tall ladder would be surely painful. “Want to swap?” she purred after a moment, turning around carefully and fixing the witcher with a mischievous stare. A trace of thinking emerged on his face in response.

“You’re right.” He lurched, now clearly touched with her accusations.

Yennefer chuckled and came down but didn’t let him take her place. She gave him another of her meaningful glares and declaimed a short, rhythmic formulary. Dozens of baubles, ribbons and bells in all colours of the rainbow, but with the clear prevalence of white and gold, flew up and away from the box, halted for a moment in the air and glided towards the tree, decorating it without any rhyme or reason.

The witcher panted loudly. Not out of astonishment as Yennefer noticed. His disappointment however didn’t interest her much. She passed him without a word, approached the table and begun to arrange the jute coasters Geralt dashed rather than placed there earlier. “Thought Lambert was to do it,” she heard him offer.

“He’s pissed as a newt,” she replied and started to work on the other side of the table.

“So what? He promised to do that. We’re responsible only for the food, remember?”

Yennefer was silent. Nonetheless, she had to bypass Geralt at last two times as he interrupted her movements surprisingly often. Not without his reasons as she soon learnt. His hands on her waist suggested his motives more than plainly.

“You were in a quite different mood yesterday,” he muttered when she had set herself free from him embrace.

“Today is today,”  she slurred, dispatching the box with uranium glass. She took the beakers out very slowly and placed one next to  every seat, raving in the same time about the quality with which they were made. They didn’t manufacture such toys anymore and how could they, she concluded. The ore required in their production was wasted almost completely on weapon production.

“Have you been in the kitchen already?” she asked Geralt after a moment. Her words brushed off his crossed arms which annoyed the sorceress of a good while.

“Have you?”

“Wanted to grab something to eat but lost my appetite entirely.”

“Appetite only?” he asked, unsticking himself from the table and reaching for the boxes in the corner of the room. Something in his voice suggested interest. Plenty of unhealthy interest.

“Were you counting on the mud wrestle?” noted Yennefer and showed him where to put the table piece made of wild ivy, anemones and few twigs of juniper- a gift recompensing the absence of Keira Metz.

“Don’t know,” sighed Geralt, wiping his hands on his trousers. Yennefer scourged him for that with a stare. The witcher only grinned. In a breakneck speed however his face turned a completely different expression. “You two haven’t got along well lately. Sorry to be the cause.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. It looks like you’re not her type anymore,” she interrupted and handed him five silver candleholders. All of them expensive. All of them retrieved by Geralt from the castle attic where they were left forever ago, most likely to moulder. No wonder they starved, thought the sorceress ironically.

“So, you’ve seen.”

“Yes, I did witness this and that. All of them. In equal intervals,” she muttered, seeing his poor attempt to find the right spot to place the troves. “She’s one hell of an instigator, I must admit.”

“How so?” asked Geralt, untying the cloth wrapped around the silver cutlery. Again salvaged from the attic.

“If it was only about sleeping with him, she would have kept it to herself… just like she did with you. But she came here with him. Looks like someone seeks our attention. Fork on the left, spoon and knife on the right. Did you forget again?”

“Going to do anything?”

“Should I?” replied Yennefer and handed him a pile of porcelain plates. Geralt almost instantly begun to set them up. This time around, without need of further assistance. “I’m sorry for Eskel, but he’s old enough to know how this world works,” she blurted, giving another wipe one of the soup plates. Before long, Geralt asked for those too.

“What if he doesn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“A little bird told me he will propose to her.”

“It’s almost like you want me to get mad.”

Geralt approached her and took from her the box of candles. He turned around then and begun to plug them into the holes in the candle holders. “Coconut? Do they make scented ones?” he bubbled with his nose pressed to one of them.

“Of course they do.”

“Why don’t we have ones smelling of lilac and gooseberry?” he asked, pointing the only remaining vax stick in her direction. Yennefer giggled lightly and let him wrap his arms around her frame, pretending she didn’t wait for that exact moment an entire morning.

They sat on the bench in the company of the garmented table and remained silent. None of them spoke, yet Geralt’s cat-like eyes seemed narrower than usual and didn’t leave hers for even a second. “I’d rather know if you plan to burn this place down,” he added then, very seriously.

Yennefer shifted but didn’t respond with her casual nervousness and fervent offensive. She sensed the blooming seriousness but was also aware it wasn’t a seriousness that could jeopardise or order. It was the kind originating from care and protectiveness, concern for the well-being of another person. That kind was benign and minor, begged to overcome it with a touch or a kiss. And so she did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for a change from Ciri's perspective because why not? I have 8 characters and I'll do my best to let them all speak. I'd like to apologize to everyone who was waiting for this update. There were some major obstacles on the way but hopefully it's truly resolved now. I'd like to thank Bellum Gerere and SilverIcefire for their priceless help.

 

The day was coming to its end. A heavy with gold disk of the sun stained the sky orange and made the snow-covered hills appear almost blue. The cold wind pushed the soft fluff from one corner of the glen to the other, dabbed the already-frostbitten cheeks, played a peaceful song at the branches of spruces and firs. Ciri wrapped her coat tighter. Her fingers ridged from the cold dealt with the task with great exertion. She did not care.

“Can’t wait for the dinner,” she directed to Nenneke who rode on the steed on Kelpie’s right. “Ham cooked on the rotisserie over an open hickory wood fire… Beer and cider… Maybe some honey cakes.” The woman smiled at the remark, her face was unnaturally pink and hardly visible from beneath the beret and thick layers of woollen scarves.

She looked back. Avallac’h and his mare seemed completely resistant to the cold. The elf was still in his usual outfit, his head not protected by anything other than a thin fabric of the hood. He looked content. He always was. Even in the very middle of rocky Zerrikanian desert where she came across him three months earlier.

“I’m so glad you agreed to join us, Nenneke” she added. “Boys really need it after Vesemir-”

“I know, Ciri.”

She looked away, suddenly unable to face the archpriestess and the topic of their conversation. Their horses at last wriggled out of the tall and narrow gulch in which they had been stuck in for what seemed eternity. The world around felt a bit brighter and then became as greyish as usual. She reached once more for the metal harness of the saddle from which two small rabbits hung- their dinner if they wouldn’t make it on time.

“Still can’t believe Eskel moved out,” she recommenced after a long pause. “Lambert’s with Keira. Geralt plays a gardener in Toussaint. Something ends; already ended.”

 

* * *

 

 

She looks absolutely radiant, reflected Ciri when Triss and Eskel went down the stairs. A simple, floor-length dress in dark shade of blue delicately accented the sorceress’ pale skin and chestnut-brown hair. Her hair while shorter than usual, coiled and formed fat curls, and made her look only more sensual. Elegance and modesty. And happiness. Without a shadow of doubt, Triss beamed with happiness.

“Excuse us being late. _Someone_ could not decide on the dress,” informed Eskel as he moved the chair for the enchantress. She took a seat across the witcheress, smiling from ear to ear. Not at her however. Her eyes constantly looked for Eskel’s. “And where are Nenneke and Yennefer?”

Geralt cleared his throat. “Upstairs, I believe. Yen pestered Ciri for being irresponsible. Now in turn, Nenneke accuses Yennefer of being overprotective. Hard to tell who is right. Far-sightedly, Ciri, Avallac’h and I decided to hide in here. Would give much to know where Lambert left. Haven’t seen him since the breakfast.”

“We’ve seen him an hour ago,” pointed out the elf, glancing into his chalice of mulled wine. “In the stables. He begged me and Zireael to go hunting with him tomorrow. We rejected. Alcohol and weapons is never a good combination,” he paused. “Maybe we should. I haven’t done it in ages.”

“This is precisely why you shouldn’t,” advised him Triss. Eskel affirmed with a single nod.

“Maybe we all should go?” Geralt butted into. “We always used to. Every single Yule. Wouldn’t hurt to leave one thing how it used to be. Tradition and respect for old values. Besides boar tastes way better than pork.”

“I’ve never hunted before but why not?” commented Triss. “Eskel what do you think?”

“Don’t know. Would need to wake up early. It’s cold, and-”

They never learned what Eskel wanted to say. In the dining hall appeared Nenneke; a step behind her, with a sour expression on her face was Yennefer. _They are at loggerheads with each other again_ , thought Ciri, _almost like then in Ellander._ The memory of days far gone brought a smile to her face.

And then something else happened. Eskel, who hadn’t had yet a chance to greet the archpriestess, rose from his seat, and without a word ran into the woman’s arms. They stood like this for a very long moment. Nenneke whispered something in his ear. He listened. Then they both took their spots by the table. Silently. Casually. She swore she heard the witcher sniffle.

"Oh my, so many delicacies,” murmured Nenneke, drying her cheek with the sleeve of her gown.

Attracted by the smell of roasted meat, also emerged Lambert. However his greeting with Nenneke was limited to unambiguous stares. Before long, they were ready to start.

 

 

“Great Goodness Melitele,” articulated Nenneke, with her hands above the plethora of meat pies, sausages, greens mixed salads and candied fruits. The main dinner was not until tomorrow, but Yennefer succeeded in making today’s feast imposing. “We beg you to bless the meal we’re about to eat. May the good luck and abundance never leave this household and the ones who consume it.”

 

“Sounds a bit forced,” remarked Lambert, applying to his plate a sound slice of duck in oranges. On the other one, he had already built a pyramid of cheese turnovers. “Yule is an _elven_ celebration as far as I remember. Linked with the Wild Hunt or something. Ask _our_ friend if you want. Melitele has nothing to do with it; not that she would have anyway. She would need to be real first.”

“You don’t need to eat if you don’t want to,” said Yennefer in a way that ceased any disputations. “Geralt, pass me the mushroom soup, please. You need to try some too. It’s pure bronze bolete.”

“Thank you. Maybe later. I want to try some duck before that pig Lambert guzzles it all. He ate all of the honey cakes yesterday. Apparently, sharing is not one of his virtues.”

“I was hungry and they were the very first thing I came across.”

“I bet they were.”

 

The full at first table emptied with an amazing speed, only to be filled up with glasses of wine: the very first wine Geralt made in Corvo Bianco. A lonely harp in the corner of the room decorated the conversations with its festive tunes, completely on its own. Whose spell brought it to life, none of the assembled knew.

“Famous Sepremento then,” whispered Triss with her nose close to the glass. “The scent is nice. Fruity and fresh. A little bit like strawberries. No, raspberry. Oh goodness, it tastes even better. Did you really make _it_ _yourself_?”

Geralt frowned. “Not exactly. Barnabas-Basil Foulty, my major-domos made it, “ he replied, imitating Triss actions with his own glass. Ciri in turn decided to keep the drinking etiquette to a minimum. Very minimum. Luckily for her, she spotted Yennefer’s fervent gaze afterwards. “I just happen to own the place. Does it still taste of magic? Frankly, I was really concerned when Yennefer decided to help the grapevines grow faster. Five years in just one season? Sounds doubtable.”

“But tastes amazing,” replied the enchantress and poured herself another, this time a bigger portion of the liquor. Ciri took another sip from her own glass and once more failed to fathom Triss’ fascination. “Good decision, Yenna.  Not to mention, the performance. It requires subtlety, persistence and a bit of talent. My congratulations. Not that it surprised me. You were always good at similar things. The collection of avian peons to start with.”

Yennefer did not reply to the complement; she hadn’t exchanged a word with the other sorceress for the entire evening. It was understandable, but so was Triss’ obsessive attempts to start a conversation. The uneasy, albeit completely foreseeable silence filled up the room.

“Ciri, I heard you slave wyverns these days,” started Eskel. His attempt to break the ice was blatant but somehow touching.

Ciri looked at the man. A shadow of smile creeped through her face. “I’m not a wyvern slayer. Far from it,” she admitted and reached for a fresh jug of spiced cider - a distraction from the sudden outburst of pride. She needed to compose herself. One, fat female would likely astonish nobody but her. “Yes, I recently killed one in the Kestrel Mountains. A pretty big one. They didn’t pay much but a mage in Pont Vanis needed badly bone marrow and eggs. I happened to possess both.”

“How much did he pay you?”

“Skip it, Lambert,” said Geralt a bit too emotionally.

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Ciri. ”Five hundreds bizants for five eggs and a vial of bone marrow. Dammit. He offered another five for scales. It’s easy to be wise after the event.”

“It wasn’t too bad anyways.” The youngest of the witchers nodded.

”And I thought they would be completely useless. Looks like the star of prosperity shines on me this Yule.”

“Prosperity?” Yennefer interrupted. Through her clenched teeth, words sounded almost like barking of a wolf. “The wyvern was close to killing _you_. Your right trapezius muscle was in pieces. Avallac’h and Nenneke did a terrific job putting it back together, but it’s not enough. That muscle supports the weight of the arm, rotates and depresses the scapula. Do you have any idea how important that function is? What can happen if it’s not working properly.”

“You explained it to her and surely will do that again,” said the archpriestess in a calm but in the same time intolerant manner. The enchantress challenged with her gaze but the woman did not yield even a little. Yennefer did. “Give it a rest for goodness’ sake. She’s not a baby anymore.”

“You-”

“I have no right. That’s what you wanted to say. It’s none of your business either. She’s a grown up and can do what she wants. She chose to be a witcher. Your role is to accept it. You don’t need to agree with it, but keep it to yourself. End of the story.”

“I won’t. The wyvern almost left her handicapped-”

“And riding a horse can cause head injuries. Will you forbid her that as well? You can’t avoid risk in your life, Yennefer. Your tormenting makes it only more likely to happen. She’s distracted and tired.”

Yennefer sighed loudly but did not reply. For a very long moment, she was silent. Ciri spotted how a heavy, glittering drop of blood drained from her nose and hung for a good moment down from its tip. The sorceress dried it with her napkin. Another three emerged in return.

"I’m fine,” she snorted, holding the fabric against her skin. “You want to applaud her every stupid idea, your choice. I have no intention to and I’ll make sure she knows what I think about it. Besides, please spare me similarly ridiculous analogies. Horse riding is lethal? Just as lethal as being a witcher? Name one witcher that died in his own bed. What a surprise you cannot.”

“Karsten of Rakverelin. Sweet urine disease damaged his kidneys,” replied the archpriestess. Yennefer’s eyes begun to gleam with violet flame. “I want to help,” added Nenneke, much more sensitively now. “Because what you do doesn’t make sense to me. You fail to acknowledge she’s not a child anymore. I know you had little time together and you’re trying to compensate that, but it’s not right. You need to build a more mature relationship. Like an adult with an adult.”

The sorceress chuckled and came back to her plate. For some undefined reason the mushroom soup from her bowl did not want to vanish. “I’ll keep that in mind. Great advice. Thanks a lot.”

“You’ll thank me one day. You just don’t see it now, but you will. I’m sure of that. And excuse my bluntness but I think you should take in another child. An infant maybe. You’ll get married soon. There’s no reason why not to.  Just think about it, tiny feet and rosy cheeks. I’d organise everything.”

“You’re out of line, Nenneke!”

“It would take your mind off Ciri for a while,” continued the archpriestess as if the screaming did not reach her ears. “First, your encounter in Novigrad. What were you trying to achieve? Now, the letters few times a day. No point denying it. I’ve seen your pace when she was in Ellander. She just replied and the bird with your reply was already waiting on the windowsill. Such care often doesn’t help. It almost suffocates.”

“Suffocates?” hissed Yennefer. A rusty spot on her napkin grew bigger again. “She’s my daughter. She needs attention. I’m trying to reach to her, that’s all. If my company was a balk would she stand it so patiently? Ciri do you want me to get off your back?”

Ciri didn’t reply. Not sure why, but she didn’t. In a blink of an eye, she begun to feel like a doe which spotted the eyes of its predator in the endless greenery. The crippling cold pulsed in her veins. The fear paralyzed. The only thing she could do was to wait for an arrow or a teeth to touch her skin and the piercing pain that followed it.

The sorceress’ spoon touched the bottom of the bowl gently. “Alright then,” she whispered. She seemed calm but the girl sensed the anger boiling underneath like hot iron, the unnatural way in which the muscles of her face twitched. The time slowed down. Yennefer pressed the blood-stained napkin harder to her nostrils. Without a word. Without a single sound of disappointment or irritation, she rose from her seat and left the room. The arrowhead reached Ciri’s heart.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t know what this fuss is about,” mumbled Yennefer as she wiped her upper lip with a wet cloth. Her nose had stopped to spot a good few minutes earlier, but until now she hadn’t seemed to be eager to let go of the napkin. “Casual nose bleed,” she said, showing the dirty fabric to Nenneke. The blood on it was already more brownish than red. “Nothing more. Certainly nothing worth for all three of us to be here.”

Ciri acknowledged. The archpriestess however appeared to be completely deaf to the reassurances. Instead, she took a seat next to the sorceress on the bed and abruptly forced her to tilt her head back. “Once bitten, twice shy,” she whispered, toying with the flexible parts of Yennefer’s nose. “Swollen like a strawberry. No wonders it bleeds.”

“Be careful. It’s my nose, I remind you, ” hissed Yennefer, warping her nostrils like an enormous rabbit. “It’s just a nosebleed. I’ve been a bit weary. The job and new responsibilities. The wedding. The feminine problems.”

“Feminine problems?”

“Yes,” she yawned. “In line with the theory of adaptation,  the permanent disuse of any organ imperceptibly weakens and deteriorates it. Never had any problems before but Tissaia could share quite some interesting stories. Don’t look at me like this. It’s nothing black bugbane or anything else the Temple has to offer would solve. Surgery will. I’m having _everything down there_ removed in January.”

“Does Geralt know?”

“No,” said Yennefer sternly. “And if possible, I would like it to stay that way. You know him. He’d mope around. As always, more than it’s needed. We don’t have time for this now. Also I would be grateful if you could suppress your interest in our family life for now. I’m particularly not in mood.”

The archpriestess saddened a little. Yennefer in turn tried to smile. Nothing did come from it. A thick silence filled up the room for a good moment.

“Ciri,” the sorceress sighed after a while. “Go downstairs and grab me something.”

“Geralt promised to do it.”

“I want you to do it,” she replied. “Chop-chop. Bring me some ham and caramelised carrots. And needfully a glass of beetroot juice for the today’s blood loss.”

 

* * *

 

The very first thing Ciri noticed when she re-entered the dining hall was the shift in the atmosphere. The room which sunk in the silence and awkwardness just minutes earlier, was now replete with the medley of voices and laughers, and smell of burnt hickory logs.

“And this is basically how I remembered Ciri’s first days in Kaer Morhen,” Triss managed to pass in between the waves of almost hysterical snigger. Her story amused only her and Avallac’h. Geralt’s face was dressed in pure embarrassment. So was Eskel’s. Lambert’s reaction the girl could not work out. “Silly leather outfit, dishevelled hair and a huge rat skin pinned to her bedroom’s door. And I bet that for some of us it was actually the very first lesson on feminine physiology.”

“It wasn’t that bad. Right, Ciri?” asked Geralt, with his hands behind his head. His eyes looked for hers in the dim candle light. They met for a brief moment.  He gave a slight wince. She grimaced at him too.

“Right”, she mumbled. She took a seat next to him on the bench. Her attention drifted almost instantly to the almost full jug she left there earlier. Then she focused again on her interlocutors, more precisely on Triss and Eskel’s intertwined hands.

“You see, Triss? Happy customer. Yen didn’t need you upstairs?”

Ciri grinned nastily. She didn’t need to speak. Geralt jerked from his seat but she stopped him with a simple gesture of her hand. “Slow down,” she said. “I have a feeling she doesn’t want to see any of us any time soon. They have a case conference now. And if we’re spilling each other’s secrets, Triss would you like to share with the other’s the funny story from our trip to Ellander?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

* * *

 

 

They sat in front of the vanity table when Ciri entered the bedroom at the top of the tower. Geralt spotted her first. The witcheress in turn noticed the tray she prepared for Yennefer, now completely denuded of its contents except for a lonely slice of bread. The sorceress inclined over a bowl, with a linen towel over her head had the worst field of vision.

“Our sprog came to talk,” Geralt directed, more to Yennefer than to her as the girl suspected. “Better leave you two alone. Bet Ciri has plenty to share.”

Indeed she had, but it wasn’t anything either. She waited till the door to the room closed and then very slowly, as if glued to the floor, she started to migrate towards the dressing table and Yennefer.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered already by her side. The sorceress did not reply just as she expected. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all those things. I mean, I should have said something. Nenneke really shouldn’t… Not important what she shouldn’t actually. I didn’t come here to talk about her.”

Yennefer discarded the towel and placed it on the table. “You really think that-” she choked, playing with the embroidered butterflies that decorated the hem of the cloth. “You really wish I was-”

“No, I don’t. I was angry when I said it. Nenneke shouldn’t mention it.”

The sorceress gave a slight cough. “People tend to remember everything you say to them, Ciri. Especially if it has a negative subtext. Sometimes they may use it against you. Even in good faith. That’s why you have to mind your words.”

“Now, I know. Are you crossed with me?”

Yennefer turned around on the tall stool and glanced straight at her. For a long moment, she didn’t say a thing. “I’m a bit embarrassed, I suppose,” she admitted. “Maybe bitter but that’s all. It takes a bit more to make me crossed.”

“I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the wyvern and my tra- That muscle. I know it’s important. And I’m sorry about your problems. I could join you in Vengerberg right after Yule if you want to.”

The enchantress laughed lightly. “You’re getting soppy, Ciri. Slow down or you’ll start to agree with everything I say. We can’t allow that to happen, can we?” She smiled at her. Ciri smiled back. “Apologies accepted. Now go to the closet. I have something for you,” the girl did as she was asked. “The big black box, top shelf. Can’t you see it? I’ll get you glasses, I swear. Yes, this one. Just go for it, it’s not that heavy. We were supposed to give it to you tomorrow but under these circumstances-”

Ciri placed the box on the floor, opened it gently and pushed aside the layer of organza covering its contents. “I’m not an expert so Geralt chose them. Very carefully. Hope they’ll survive longer than the ones we gave you last summer,” she heard the sorceress say as she retrieved from the box a pair of red shoes and riding gloves in the matching colour.

“Thank you. They’re lovely,” replied the witcheress and set about testing the new accessories straight away. The gloves were a bit too tight but shoes… She hadn’t have a pair so comfortable in a very long time.

“They’ll better be. An equivalent of two vials of perfume or a nice dress. Unfortunately my daughter despises everything that harbours even a hint of good taste or femininity. Hell if I had only known back then when we first met… I would have let you play with my beauty products whenever you wanted to.”

“I was stealing them when you weren’t looking,” mumbled Ciri, marching across the room with a grace of a heavy infantryman.

Her confession made them both chuckle and the girl realized how much she missed _it_ : simple laughing together, simple conversations and ridiculous yacks. They had forgotten about it entirely. Amongst aloofness and pointless fights, they had forgotten about many things. Too many things.

She moved closer to Yennefer’s stool. She wasn’t sure what to expect but she had hope, and she wasn’t let down. The sorceress’ arms held her close, eager and solicitous, pleasantly warm. “You know what.” Ciri moved gently her chin supported on Yennefer’s shoulder. “Nenneke’s wrong. We don’t need another child.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It wasn’t that bad,” commented Eskel as he watched Triss’ nightly ritual from the bed. Every single night the procedure consisted of the same simple elements, in most cases placed in the same, predictable and tedious order. On other nights he didn’t mind. Tonight however, along with a sound amount of liquor, it seemed almost unbearable.

“It was nice I admit,” the sorceress replied, placing her sapphire earrings in their wooden casket. “We still have tomorrow ahead of us though. One is only as good as one’s last shift.”

“Tomorrow is going to be even better,” the witcher replied. Triss’ eyes glanced at him from the mirror. “I spoke to Geralt. They’re going to Castel Ravello: he and Yennefer. Someone cancelled a reservation. The last weekend of April. Yennefer has she hots for the offer but they have to make up their minds quickly.”

The enchantress extinguished the oil lamp. The room sunk into the infinite darkness. He closed his eyes deliberately and listened to the sound of her steps on the crisp planks and the scratch of the worn-out mattress.

“Castel Ravello,” he heard her purr somewhere nearby him. “Not only Toussaint, but the very best of it. Looks like we may witness the wedding of the century. Or rather you will.”

Eskel shifted a little. Triss sighed loudly in reply. “Don’t know,” he blurted, finding at last her hair and not long after the rest of her. “Can’t picture Geralt getting married in such place.”

“Why?”

“It’s odd. Unmanly.”

The sorceress left a fleeting kiss on his cheek. “Bad news for you then,” she whispered, her hot breath tickled. “Almost every woman wants a wedding like this.”

“Why?”

“It’s the most important day in our lives,” she chuckled. “Every little girl dreams about it. The triumph of love. Someone you love and who loves you back declares to spend the rest of their life with you. Such day can’t be similar to others. It shouldn’t.”

“Do you dream about it too?”

She clung tighter to him and did not reply for a very long moment. The smell of her freshly bathed body almost drove him mad. “I don’t know,” she started, her words were incredibly slow. “Having such dreams has its consequences, because in the end it’s only a dream. It’s just a dream and dreams usually don’t come true.  Or maybe I’m simply too old to believe?  How about you? Do witchers dream about happily ever after?”

“I… In my opinion-”

He wasn’t given a chance to finish. They heard a quiet knock on the door. A knock that did not want to subside. He gasped loudly when she placed a kiss to his lips. He knew what that meant. Then he heard how she approached the door.

“Did I wake you up?” asked the intruder who looked and sounded surprising a lot like Nenneke, but it couldn’t be her. Nenneke was surely sleeping soundly in her bed and would not bother others when they were about to ask the most important question in their lives. No, it couldn’t be Nenneke.

“No, I-”

“Good. I need your favour. You still offer screening for foetal anomalies in your practice?”

Triss nodded. The archpriestess reached to the pocket of her dress and then placed something on the sorceress’ hand. The object shone funnily in the light coming from the hallways, but still, its details were blurry for Eskel’s eyes. “I’ll cover the costs. As many fetoproteins as possible. Juxtapose it with the reference values for fourth month. And please for now don’t breathe a word out of it.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is- another chapter. I'd like to apologize everyone for that two months it took me to update. My life is a roller-coaster lately which doesn't help in keeping things under control. Hopefully the next chapters are going to be more regular. Only two more chapters to go! Yeah.
> 
> I'd like to apologize to any potential geeks in Obstetrics. I know there is one significant mistake when it comes molar pregnancy in this chapter. I know about it and acknowledge it but decided that Yennefer and others will not be aware of it as they're not acquainted with neither Embryology nor Genetics.

The world was already beginning to dance at the edge of a new day when the sound of an opening portal pierced through the silence that filled the chamber. Eskel shifted on the mattress and turned his face towards the source of the disruption.

Triss, who had loomed up from the nothingness, had already regained  her previous shape and now sat by the dressing table. She and Eskel's eyes met almost instantly, but for a good while neither of them spoke.

"Did I wake you?" she asked after a moment.

"No." he yawned in reply, following his fingers along the top of the lifeless sack his pillow had become overnight. "Couldn't sleep anyway. How did it go?"

The sorceress placed her boots under the table, right next to three other pairs. "Good I suppose," she mumbled, still peering at him, "someone switched off the water engine so I had to use the manual centrifuge. To make things worse, Nenneke added citric acid to the blood so isolation of pure serum was harder than I anticipated. Anyway, everything that required immediate action is pretty much done."

“Glad to hear that,” he whispered.

She moved closer and took a seat beside him on the bed. Eskel reached his hand towards her knee covered with a thin layer of stocking and grabbed it, securely but not impertinently. "Can we still count for a negative?" He asked, once more seeking her face in the darkness.

She didn't reply. Instead, she laid down next to him and cuddled up. They both remained silent. He kissed the top of her head. Triss clung a bit closer.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she offered, ghosting her fingertips over the long scar lancing his cheek.

“Like you couldn’t find out anyway,” he observed.

The sorceress giggled and lifted herself on her elbow, her lips brushed his lips in a quick kiss. Too quick a kiss. “Good point,” she purred, still impossibly close to him. “Nevertheless, I’d like to hear it from you.”

Eskel took a deep breath. Triss used the occasion and settled herself down on his chest. “You can tell me you know that?” she yawned, intertwining her hands with his.

“I know,” he offered in exchange. “It’s nothing. I’m just worried about Geralt.”

 

* * *

 

 

The morning seemed leisurely, sluggish almost. It had the taste of crumpets, roasted grain beverage and baked apples of paradise. It blazed with the light of the fireplace and countless candles and resonated with the sound of laughter and paper being torn in excitement.

"More underwear," Geralt whispered, placing the pieces of undergarment on the pile of socks and tunics, and other fiddle-faddle Yennefer and Ciri generously presented him with. Then he glanced again at the box with silver earings he got the sorceress and an expensive set of oils he found for the younger one and sighed.

"One can't have enough of these," Yennefer yawned, swaddled up in a cocoon of blankets. Despite being woken up before dawn and forced to wear a festive outfit, she appeared to be in a good mood; best proof of that was that she hadn't yet chased Ciri and him away from the bedroom. "Besides if we talk about it," she continued, moving her lips slowly, "little changes will do you some good. The ones you currently have are ashen from so many washes." She paused for a moment. Ciri passed him another wrapped bundle. Geralt smiled, very insincerely.

"It's toilet water," the sorceress snorted.

It was indeed a toilet water.

"Smells nice," he observed, breathing in the scent of orange, vetiver and something else, most likely pepper. He didn't lie. Yennefer had one heck of experience on the field. "Your perfumery in Vengerberg's working again?" He asked.

The sorceress shook her head. They both went silent, not without reason. For a brief moment, he came back to those days in her house; to the shelves buckling under the weight of colourful vials and caskets; the baskets with tiny bags of sea salt and scented bath balls; the smell of lilac and gooseberries in the air. He had never asked what happened next.

"Business as usual," the enchantress replied, spotlessly sensing his uneasiness, "my house is one of the biggest in Vengerberg, so it was an obvious choice for a police station. The walls of the basement are still stained with blood, but at least they did not burn the entire place down. Just the perfumery. I don't know why but I just can't compose… Not like back then at least. Ciri, it's your turn."

Ciri grizzled but ultimately reached for a huge red package, just as she was told. "A dress," she commented, retrieving from it a long emerald gown embroidered with black thread and pearls in the same colour. "Thanks, Yen."

“It’s not from me,” the enchantress defended herself, “after the last try, I would never dare to buy you clothes again.”

"You got me," Geralt said, imitating guilt and picked up from the bedside table a heavy, perpendicular packet. "It's for you, Yen." He offered, encouraging the sorceress to let go of the quilt. She got herself up and sat, suggesting unblushingly she wished to be cradled. Her eagerness seemed almost unnatural but Geralt complied, very eagerly.

" _The Poisoned Source_ ," he whispered with his lips close to her ear as she fought a battle with the paper at the front. "Very first edition of the book that revolutionized the entire mage society. This was at least what the bookseller said. Plus it was written by your mistress. I saw it in Beauclair and immediately thought--”

“What the fuck did you think?” Ciri cut him in the mid sentence. “They did _it_ to her because of that book. Because of that book she can never have… How cruel one needs to be to--”

“Ciri, calm down,” Yennefer interrupted her in turn and placed her hand on Geralt’s lap. “Thank you, dear,” she said, glancing at him. “It was a spot-on choice. To be frank, I haven’t read _The Poisoned Source_ since Aretuza. It’s high time to give it another go.”

“Yen?” whispered the Witcher, diffidently.

The sorceress leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. “Geralt,” she said after a moment, imitating the tender notes in his voice, “I’m too old to throw a tantrum over everything other people do or say. Even mage life is too short for that. Beside I  really like it. Maybe it’s really a right time to finally let it go. Do you believe me?”

Geralt was forced to believe.

 

* * *

 

 

"You're fast, gotta tell you. Crack of dawn and you're already grumpy," Eskel chuckled while Geralt fruitlessly forced himself to finish his plate of semolina pudding. There were only two of them in the dining hall, but the fresh tableware and platters of sizzling food suggested that things were to change any minute. The only uncertainty was Yennefer. After spending the last hour on apologizing to her, the sorceress still tried to fool Geralt she hadn’t felt offended in the first place. "Ciri or Yen?" the dark-haired asked again, much bolder now. The sword he was polishing by the table gleamed brightly in the candle light.

Geralt sighed, very loudly and pretty much for effect.

"I understand."

"You know shit." He growled, regretting the anger behind his words straight away. On the other hand, Eskel really knew little. His relationship with Triss was at a completely different stage, and even if they had started serious conversations already, did Triss dream about the same things Yennefer did?

Yennefer clearly had not forgotten about her dream, had accepted her failure maybe, but was hurt just as much as before. Now he was sure of that. The miraculous effect Ciri had on them had worn out, and maybe Nenneke was right? Maybe they were ready for another try? Maybe even needed it? After all, things had gone incredibly well for them after Ciri had joined them. Still, he did not want to discuss it with Eskel. No, he didn't want to discuss it at all.

"Touchy subject?"

"Very touchy."

"I won't dwell on it then."

"I wanted to give Yen something memorable and I gave her _The Poisoned Source_."

"That weird book that took from Yennefer and her schoolmates the pain of motherhood before they even managed to learn what that pain was?"

Eskel burst out laughing. Geralt glanced once more at his plate and the disgusting mess on it, now utterly convinced that the effect of his efforts was easy to predict for everyone but him.

"You're better than Nenneke," the other Witcher said, carefully inspecting both sides of the blade and then showing it to Geralt. Geralt pointed out few tiny white blobs, most likely a keepsake from an encounter with a drowner or a water hag. Eskel sighed and went back to the task. "Yennefer seems to be a reasonable woman. She'll forgive this little incident, I'm sure of that," he stated as his fingers tried to scrape off the obstinate smudge, "you're going to be stuck in Toussaint anyway today. Maybe a romantic dinner would sort it out? Or at least a bouquet of flowers?" He stopped and showed Geralt the sword again. This time he did not have anything to suggest. “Proper ones,” the witcher continued, completely ignoring the fact that that their conversation changed pretty much into a monologue. “Women don't appreciate fudge. Maybe roses or peonies? No, orchids. Yennefer is an orchid type. And please consult with me every gift you plan to give her. As your groomsman, I feel obligated to make that wedding happen in the first place."

"Very funny." Grunted Geralt. “Besides, she insists she’s fine.”

Eskel smiled and opened the two jars with brown oil and hanged man's venom. Geralt passed him the gloves and a box of steel arrows and started to polish some arrowheads on his own. "I'm always serious when it comes to women-" he admitted, coating the blade with the purple paste. "Maybe she really is? In the end, she can’t get mad every time someone mentions it. And I'm glad Triss is fertile. It makes me a bit more hopeful for the future."

"Is she?"

The other Witcher placed the sword back in its scabbard and reached for a bunch of arrows. "Yes, she is," he replied, completely without emotions. "Tissaia de Vries decided to retire but against everyone's assumption Margarita Laux-Antille wasn't chosen to replace her, which caused an overwhelming storm in the school. The new rector seemed to have one goal, to damage Tissaia's legacy, compulsory sterilization including. Things changed back to normal eventually, but Triss graduated already. To make things worse Triss is allergic to potions and elixirs. Thought that out of all people--"

Geralt finished the last of bolts. "Clearly I did not know."

"Didn't want to find out? Personally, I think it's for the best. Who knows, maybe she'll change her mind? Pregnancy and motherhood are important."

Geralt took a deep breath. "Yennefer gets mad every time I mention Aretuza. I've never thought about asking Triss. She can have children; you can’t. Really consider asking another man to inseminate the woman you love? We went through it with Yen. I’m quite relieved it never got more serious."

Eskel hesitated for a moment. "Triss loves talking," he recommenced, gracefully evading the other topic. "I asked once and she never stopped. I like it. Feels like I know her a bit better. Can you believe she couldn't sleep without her doll till she was almost fifteen years old? I love everything about that woman, but can we please change the subject? I feel incredibly stupid."

They ceased their conversation instead. A pleasant silence filled up the room. Geralt could, at last, come back to stir the pudding and raspberry sauce it was decorated with. The mixture got a satisfying shade of violet but tasted just as bad as usual.

"Geralt?"

"What?" snorted the Witcher.

"There's something I'd like you to know about. Triss made me promise I won't say a word but--"

"Want to join me in my exile? She said no and likely meant it."

Eskel stopped but not for long. "Thought about it the entire night." He whispered, reaching for the baking sheet and the bacon was shining with fat. "You're like a brother to me. Never kept anything from you and don't want to start doing it now. Besides, I really think you have every right to know. I'd like to know if I were you."

"Spare me this melodramatic introduction. What's going on?"

“You’re going to be a grandfather,” said the dark-haired Witcher, this time around painfully to the point.

Geralt chuckled and for a moment did not speak. “No way,” he muttered then. “ Ciri would never do something so reckless. She knows what’s at stake. Beside these are not values Yennefer and I instilled in her. You must have misinterpreted everything. Beside I would have been first to know--”

“Yesterday,” Eskel interrupted him. “Nenneke came to our bedroom and asked Triss to run some tests. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but she wanted the ones for foetal abnormalities, not the pregnancy test itself. And she said someone is precisely four months along. Maybe I really misinterpreted everything--”

“Don’t think you did” Geralt gasped, feeling how the earth beneath his feet shifted all of a sudden.

 

* * *

 

Although Eskel considered himself a calm person and deeply believed in the advantage of negotiations and compromise over duels and fistfights, that day he was close to breaking the habit. He sat by the breakfast table, glancing at Avallac'h crooked advances and the pinkish blush which deluged Ciri's cheeks and cogitated over all methods he could use to separate the elf's head from the rest of his scrawny body.

Ciri was expecting the sage's child, in the best case, he was just a passer-by who kindly offered his help with the newly encountered problem. Geralt and Yennefer did not give a damn about such help and would surely demonstrate their gratitude. They definitely should.

"How is Yennefer feeling today?" he heard Nenneke ask the white-haired witcher.

"Couldn’t be better," Geralt replied, still gawking at his plate of semolina pudding which was now properly cold, as if the performance Ciri and Avallac’h delivered before her eyes did not exist.

And this was exactly what caused the entire crisis, thought Eskel, with his face hidden behind the mug of herbal tea. Geralt and Yennefer’s neutrality and reluctance to patronize paid off, but not in the way they wished it to. If it was Eskel’s decision, he would have got rid of the elf forever ago.

“What’s wrong this time?” asked the woman again.

“Same what yesterday,” the white-haired witcher mumbled. “Nausea.”

"She’s been very sickly lately," the arch-priestess pointed out, pouring herself another ladle of stewed apples, "not that it's surprising. She’s an epitome of workaholism. Her job hours, her eating habits, aversion to outdoor activities… It all matters. One cannot fool their body forever. Maybe you could convince her to change a thing or two?”

Geralt grunted under her breath. His answer while trivial as it seemed, must have satisfied the woman. She stayed silent for way too long as for Nenneke.

“You’re right,” the older of women commented after a moment. “It’s like encouraging bear to try vegetarianism. But you saw what happened yesterday; she needs to take care of herself. Especially now as she-”

“I what?” Yennefer muttered through clenched teeth. Her appearance in the room caused quite a significant reaction in Geralt. She seemed to be aware of it or at least that was what Eskel thought immediately. “Geralt, don’t stare like an idiot. And pass me some croutons,” she ordered, taking a seat next to her fiancé.

"Actually, could I get some too?" interrupted Avallac'h who apparently observed the absence of croutons as well.

“Course you can,” said Geralt as if waking up from a trance, and reached for the basket lying in front of him. He passed it to the sorceress and then without making a meal out of it, poured onto his own, almost empty plate the remaining two or three handfuls of bread cubes, completely ignoring the elf.

Eskel swallowed a laugh he hoped no one noticed.

Yennefer noticed it.

“What’s so funny, Eskel?” she growled, pouring herself some stewed fruits and almost piercing him with her violet eyes, but then the expression on her face changed, she glanced at the elf and smiled. “Take mine,” she offered, reaching her bowl in his direction. “I didn’t try it yet. Frankly, I don’t know why I even made myself one. Crackers are more realistic option for me lately.”  

“Maybe Triss is up,” Eskel jetted out of the blue. Within seconds he was back on his feet, looking through the leavings from the breakfast. “Anyone’s still in mood for bacon?”

“Take as much as you wish, Eskel,” blurted Geralt, still snuggling to his plate of semolina pudding.

“There are still some crescent rolls left, I see, ” Yennefer butted into the conversation, now for a change calm. “And scrambled eggs. Also Triss isn’t a fan of mint tea. There’s some camomile left in the kitchen. Actually I was planning to go there too… I’ll help you.”

Eskel accepted the offer but still peered at Geralt. The other witcher shook his head, the pupils of his eyes visibly dilated.

The sorceress rose from her seat and joined Eskel by the door. “Anyone fancy anything?” she offered, looking around the room. No one replied. She nodded. “Alright then, I’ll be back in a second.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Triss was asleep when Eskel snuck into their chamber. The window shutters were still closed, their wet clothes still decorated the room from hooks and chairs and every vertical surface Eskel and Triss had found useful to store them earlier, the fire in the fireplace still danced slowly. Everything seemed exactly how he left it, except for the sorceress who now resembled a flying squirrel and monopolized by the same token the entire bed.

Eskel closed the door after himself, placed the tray beside the door and approached the bed, minding his footsteps on the squeaky floor.

“Triss?” he said, not raising his voice higher than the ultimate minimum.

For a moment something appeared to change. Triss shifted, but against his hopes only to roll onto her side, forcing the witcher the same way to marvel at the floral embroidery that made up a good half of the back of her nightgown.

He made another step and kneeled beside the mattress, for a good moment only glancing.

“Wake up sleepy head,” he whispered next, placing a tender kiss on the sole of her left foot. The sorceress released a long sigh, gulped loudly, scratched her feet with one another and put both of her limbs under the covers, but still she did not wake up.

Eskel chuckled. Still convinced not to let go, he raised the duvet a little and repeated the trick with sole kissing, now for a change, detaining the sorceress’ foot in place.

“Damn you, Eskel,” squeaked Triss sleepily and pulled her foot out of his trap. “Where did you learn these antics? I swear I’ll try it on you one day.”

“I count on that,” Eskel laughed and lay down in the bed with her. She moved a little closer and laughed along with him. He leant in on his elbow and kissed her gently.

Triss smilled. “I know you do,” she blurted and then in a in a blink of an eye metamorphosed the fleety experience into a proper make out. He indulged to her hot lips and arms encircling him like the tentacles of an octopus. He was completely in love with that part of her.  He had not once met a woman so sure of herself and what she wanted or needed. It was a nice change, a very enduring one.

“Let me quote you,” he gasped, leaving a trail of soft kisses on her forehead and nose and cherishing the brief pause they were forced to make. Even his altered lung volume was no use around Triss. “Eskel, please wake me up for the hunting. I want to go hunting. Please, Eskel don’t let me sleep entire day. I don’t want to waste entire day.”

“Let me quote you,” the sorceress interrupted him with a hint of cockiness in her voice. “Please go to Kaer Morhen with me and we’ll spend every day on walks and nights on meticulous lovemaking. Where’s my lovemaking? See, you did not fulfill your promise. Not last night, it is--”

“Last night,” Eskel blurted out and pressed his lips again to hers, “you were in Kovir.”

“Fair point. Still you should make up for that, Eskel.”

“Make up how?”

Triss giggled, reached for the row of silk buttons at the front of her nightgown and began to undo them, one by one and painfully slowly.

“Oh, in this way,” coaxed Eskel.

 

* * *

 

 

"Everyone's ready?" Geralt heard Eskel yell as Triss tried to insert the crossbow in the holder on his back where it belonged. "Lambert," sighed the dark-haired Witcher, most likely spotting the other Witcher and his disquisition over the chest of axes and other similar tools. "Leave the axes alone. You’re a witcher, not a knacker. And where's Nenneke?"

"I'm here," cried the arch-priestess and emerged from behind the front doors with a huge, wicker basket in her hands. Geralt approached her and took the inconvenient item. "What's so surprising? Didn't believe I'd come? I need fresh medlars for the pie."

"They won't be fresh. More frozen," Eskel observed, pointing out at the rows of frost-covered trees, his hand found its way to Triss’s shoulder for at least third time in the last hour. Ciri burst out laughing hearing another hilarious joke from Avallac'h. Geralt, in turn, boggled at the realisation that this Yule might just as well be the very first of many he would be forced to spend in the elf's company.

"And when did you, Eskel, became a practical joker?" replied the arch-priestess as she clung to Geralt's arm. The procession moved towards the back gate and the nearby forest. "Weren't you supposed to do something else?" Nenneke directed to Geralt only. "Yennefer won't be happy when she figures out you're not in the castle. On a different note, she's very patient. If she asks you for help, you do it, no questions or silly whining."

"Wasn't whining." Geralt muttered.

Nenneke patted his arm lightly. "Of course you weren't. Thank you very much for such not-whining. Look lively everyone, we don't have an entire day. Where the heck did Lambert go?"

“One cannot even piss without supervision these days,” snorted the youngest of Witchers, joining the rest of group. “If we’re so open, Triss and Eskel just had sex and plan another go in the forest. It must be fashion or something cause Geralt baptised already all rooms with--”

“How did you--” asked Eskel and Geralt in unison.

“I was bluffing,” said Lambert, spitting on the ground. “Fuck, thanks to you two, one cannot even eat by the table without feeling disgusted.”

“Now as you all showed off,” interrupted him the arch-priestess, “can we all finally go?”

As soon as they entered the woods, it became obvious that their visit had another, hidden motif to it. Eskel moved between the sea of pines and spruces with almost animal-like grace. He was swift and unflawed, in every possible way showing his unity with the place. Geralt had spotted the irrational behaviour of the Witcher almost instantly and suspected that so had the others.

"This is how it goes. See these antlers?" Eskel explained to Triss. To Geralt's surprise, she seemed genuinely interested. He would have never accused Triss of slightest interest in hunting. Definitely not after she had dirtied his shoes at the sight of animal guts a few years earlier.

"Yes?" replied the sorceress but without confidence.

"We'll climb the trees and I'll use these antlers to attract a stag. Lambert will sit in the opposite tree and shoot it. Then we'll follow the blood -stains. Hopefully, the stag will bleed to death, if not we'll help it a bit. Avallac'h and Ciri will try the elven method of hunting. By the end of the day, we'll learn which one is better."

"Or who had more luck," mumbled the elf, at last taking his eyes, which were as pale as fish scales, off Ciri.

"Really," started Geralt. His observation forced an unpleasant and vague grimace on the girl's face. She made a step or two in his direction, as if sensing the storm hanging in the air. The Witcher began to ponder for a brief moment if she knew he knew. "Enlighten me! Why would you think so, Avallac'h?"

"Many reasons," replied the elf, showing his white and hilariously even teeth. "Mostly because single hunting does not reflect the level of skills of the participants. In fact, it's more a matter of luck. Those antlers of yours to start with: how close from here does a stag need to be to hear them in the first place? One, two hundred yards? My skills allow me to trace prey from a good ten or even twenty miles."

Geralt grinned, his smile was equally horrid. "Twenty miles? Do you measure other things with similar accuracy?"

"My math is good," said the elf. To the Witcher's exasperation, he did not seem to be embarrassed or even slightly confused. "You -in turn- should work on your analysis of covariance."

"Of course I should," snorted, the Witcher, swinging the crossbow hanging from his back. The object resonated gently and hit him, right in the occiput. He overcame the sudden desire to curse, but the anger still boiled in his veins, tickled his eyes with hot, salty tears. "That's why I'll join you today," he mumbled. "Just to make sure I'll take into account all essential variables."

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Must say, I never pictured you as an expert in obstetrics. How did it happen, Triss?” asked Nenneke as both women denuded a lonely shrub of hawthorn from its reddish fruits.

“Long story,” replied Triss.

“I’d love to hear it, dear. Geralt, can you act like an adult? And why on earth, are you collecting all those rotten cones?”

The witcher did not know, and frankly he had no idea why they needed rosehip either, or juniper berries or those funny, tiny apples. They came for medlars. Their basket contained everything, except for medlars. He threw the slithery cone between the rampant leaves of nettles and joined the women by the hawthorn shrub.

“Thank you very much,” blurted the older of the women.

“Why do you even need me here?” he growled, gently kicking the basket laying on the frost-covered grass. The item, heavy with the weight of the women’s rubbish did not move for even an inch.

Triss chuckled lightly. Nenneke sighed, but still did not bother to look at him. “You know why. You see those shrubs of red raspberry? Gather some leaves.”

Not sure if out of boredom or simple resignation, Geralt obeyed. It was a pleasant task. Due to the early ground frost that year, the fruits had no time to fade and almost flaked off along with their stems.

“Triss, so how was it?” the witcher heard Nenneke continue on feeding her unhealthy curiosity.

“It was never my intention,” said the auburn-haired sorceress and dropped into the basket another handful of fruits. “A friend of mine decided to show me his new invention. The tool uses ultrasounds to visualise the interior of the body. It’s pretty useful. For lack of better examples, he brought his pregnant cat and to his misfortune something clicked. I showed it to Tankred and his advisors, introducing it as a potential part of prenatal screening. The king who was about to welcome his firstborn was of course really excited. He offered to fund the research right away. Ever since, the project grew only bigger. We hire twelve people and want to recruit two additional apprentices. I can’t complain about my own finances too. Still, it’s not the most important part. Not for me at least. Just in the last two months we diagnosed ten cases of ectopic pregnancy and one of hydatidiform mole. For the very first time in my life I think I do something that matters.”

Nenneke’s pale lips formed a smile. “Best feeling in the world, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea, Nenneke,” Triss almost interrupted her. “We collect all kind of data we can, analyse it and evaluate. In the last months, I wrote ten papers and assisted in further ten. More than I’ve done through my entire life until then. I feel like a part of something bigger, eternal even. Didn’t feel like that since I left Aretuza.”

The archpriestess picked up from the ground a huge pine cone and inspected it carefully. “Hydatidiform mole. Did anything change in regards of the treatment?”

“Curettage and a screening for elevated level of human gonadotropin. If there’s a rise, full mastectomy.  We don't want to risk cancer. Available medications are a dead end and the tumour metastases quickly.”

“Nothing changed then.”

“Nothing changed in many years. Still for some women the chance of motherhood is too precious to lose. The patient I mentioned insisted on keeping the baby despite our assurance that there was no fetus at all. Of course, the nature did its work. She had an spontaneous abortion three weeks later. Maybe there’s hope but hell… I still get angry when I think about it. Eskel keeps saying I should not get involved, but she has two little girls.”

With his hands full of fruits, Geralt moved in their direction. “What are you talking about?” he asked, not sure if the topic disguised or scared him more.

“Hydatidiform mole,” started the archpriestess, still holding the cone, “is a feminine illness. A very disgraceful one. It gives all the symptoms of pregnancy, but instead of bearing a child, the woman’s uterus is full of grape-shaped tissue that if not removed spreads to other organs. Or course if high pressure and hyperthyroidism didn't kill the woman earlier. At least with the novel techniques it’s easy to diagnose. Foetal hormones are often out of scale.”

“Is it very deadly?”

“Nobody knows,” Triss sighed. “Treatment can be very difficult at times, even despite early diagnosis. And it’s not that uncommon either. Lately we’ve been examining the products of conception the women pass during miscarriage. Some of what seems a normal fetuses seems to be affected by something similar to mole. Both illnesses combined give a quite nice number.”

“You know more than me,” observed Nenneke and then wrapped her hand around Geralt’s wrist.

“What?” asked the witcher, instinctively sensing problems.

“Nothing,” replied the archpriestess and reached for the basket laying on the ground. “Triss, you go with me. We need to finally find some medlars.”

“What about me?” asked Geralt, more and more puzzled.

Triss chuckled. The witcher looked at her inquiringly. “If I was to guess,” she started, rewarding him with her prettiest smile, “Nenneke asks you precisely to collect red raspberry leaves. Not fruits.”

“Do we really need them?” he asked in resignation. Neither of the two answered.

The forest seemed odd, he realised as soon as Triss and archpriestess disappeared from the sight to continue their search of medlars. On other occasions the endless hectares of trees and forest glades pulsated in their own pace, the birds sung in turns with crickets and frogs. The water in the river nearby followed its cut-and-dried pathway, time and time again crushing against the stones only to slow down and then speed up again. Sometimes, on quieter days the only sound was the rustle of the wind forcing its way between the perennial boughs. Today however it felt different, for the very first time in his life, the witcher found the woods around Kaer Morhen lifeless.

He finished gathering the leaves and begun to move in hope to meet either of the groups, but preferably Avallac’h and his advanced technique of trailing.

It was by the stream when he first noticed it, a blurry shadow between the trees that seemed to follow his footsteps. At first he hadn’t considered it even slightly suspicious, in the end it could be anyone from their group. The change came when the shadow had not replied to his many calls. Not eager to find out what the creature was, he decided to veer of the course a little.

For a while it appeared to work out just perfect, he did not see the shadow in the corner of his eye, did not feel someone’s breath at the back of his neck, the forest felt once more abandoned.

Before long, he walked out of the woods and into a forest glade. He knew that one, knew where it led. From the walls of Kaer Morhen separated him now only a small part of relatively young trees. He has seen the castle already on the horizon. He decided to move in that direction.

And then he noticed _him_. At the edge of the forest, maybe twenty feet away, unaware and calm. Beautiful.

The deer spotted him too. Greyish head and a pair of antlers rose in a gesture of invitation, motionless chestnut- brown eye pierced through him to the core, melted deep into the heart.

Geralt made a step in direction of the animal. He tried to be equally dignified but soon learnt how hard task it was. The deer did not mind it however, only raised his ears gently.

The witcher made another step, then fifth and tenth. The deer still waited. Geralt could swear he was waiting.

He made the final step, and so they stood. One next to another, human and nature, predator and the prey, only there was no predator and no prey anymore. There was only a deer and a witcher and his hand reached in the animal’s direction.

Touch. The rustle of fur under leather glove. A pair of wise eyes, too wise eyes. Wisdom and truth. Life and death. A shadow. The shadow that in an incredible pace started to gain human shape. A long coat with hood. A bow and an arrow. The deer. Arrow. Avallac’h lying on the ground, clutching his leg. Lambert’s laughter.

“Avallac’h got shot in the ass. Fuck, Geralt shot Avallac’h in the ass.”

 

* * *

 

 

A heavy, suffocating scent of camphor and balsam fir hung in the air, burnt inside his lungs with fiendish power, and made his eyes sting. Geralt tried to distract himself by controlling his breath, paid extra attention to the waterfalls building up already in his nostrils, tickling and moist, annoying.

“You’re allergic, Geralt?”  Yennefer observed rather than asked, wiping her hand in linen cloths. “Wait outside if it makes you ill. Your presence here can’t make the situation any better.”

“I'm fine,” the witcher coughed. He lied. It seemed to be a right thing to do. He had followed the sorceress’ movements for a good ten minutes. Even lost in her chores and the sudden puzzle, she managed to keep the full control over her face. Geralt however knew where to look, he knew what sort of questions to ask. The answer was clear: she was furious.

“You don't need to worry,” exhaled Avallac’h between the stifled gasps. Exhausted by the painful sensations and prolonged surgery, the elf appeared very pale, amongst the sheets and blood-stained towels almost transparent. The only distinctive part of his body was his pale hand kept in tight embrace of both Ciri’s hands. “It's really nothing,” he repeated and then buried his face in the pillows once more.

“She’s almost done, Avallac’h,” whispered the witcheress, observing carefully Yennefer’s actions. “Right, Nenneke?”

The arch-priestess passed another vial of painkilling potion for the elf to drink and nodded. Her assurance had little to do with confidence though. It couldn't possibly have. The head of the arrow which causes the entire fuss was still in its place, and seemed to bite even deeper with every attempt to remove it. To make things worse, the colour of the blood suggested that the elf’s right internal iliac artery could be in pieces. Yennefer was up to her ears in the work that noon. Now a trip to Toussaint was certainly out of question, and the Witcher would be surely to blame.

“Maybe try to cut the skin a bit more?”  Nenneke suggested, again without a trace of confidence in her voice. Yennefer however followed her advice.

It must have been really bad, thought Geralt, pressing his lips together. Yennefer hardly ever accepted anyone’s orders.  He watched how she reached for the knife and pressed it to the skin. Her hand and the blade appeared to move along the skin almost effortlessly.

The elf released another wave of muffled complaint.

* * *

 

 

 

“Did you see my earrings?. Eskel, my earrings. I can’t find my earrings,”  Triss’ voice rung in the distance.

Eskel ignored it. He opened the wooden casket lying next to the bassinet and the bar of camomile soap on the dressing table, retrieved from it a long, bone comb and begun to pull it through his wet hair, as always strand by strand.

He always liked it. For some reason it always made him feel better, a bit more confident. In the end it was the only thing in his appearance he could still improve. Tonight he would really need improvement.

“Are you deaf, Eskel,” Triss’ voice tinkled again, this time around from a closer distance. The Witcher turned around and noticed she had already passed the decorative screen that separated the bath section from the rest of their chamber, her curves still weren’t covered by anything more proper than a thin fabric of the towel. “My earrings, I gave them to you back then in the forest. Can’t find them anywhere. Please, don’t tell me you lost them.”

“I did not,” he mumbled, recalling a pair of gold earrings formed in the shape of daisies or marigolds. “They're in my jacket, the inner pocket.”

The sorceress rolled her eyes at him. He didn't notice it however, just as he did not pay attention to the fact she left the bathroom. All that existed in that moment was the mirror and the reflection that emerged from beneath the veil of fog. Whose face was that? A monster? A mutant? The devil himself? A groom-to-be? A pair of blunt, cat eyes were looking straight at him from the tile of glass.

He looked away, took off the piece of ribbon from his forearm, and tied his hair up with it. He was ready to go. Almost.

“Someone’s hungry and a bit cranky?” he called out, placing the comb back in the casket. The casket in turn found its place on the shelf beneath the countertop of the table. Triss adored harmony and demanded the same thing from everyone who shared the bedroom with her. Luckily for her, Eskel liked order just as much. “What would you like? Chicken soup? Dumplings? You know what’s better? A chicken soup in dumplings. Nenneke knows how to makes those little miracles. What would you say to that, Triss? Chiffchaff?”

The sorceress was silent. He left the bathroom and flashed on all at sudden what he had forgotten about, what had been in the other inner pocket of his jacket all along, and what he had learned terrified him greatly.

He found Triss sitting on the bed, troubled and sad with a familiar, wooden box in her hands.


	8. Chapter 8

 

“I'm sorry,” Geralt repeated for the hundredth time since he had join Yennefer in the kitchen. 

Without glancing in his direction even once, the sorceress put the soap aside on the porcelain tray in the shape of witch hazel leaf, cleared her throat as if she was about to speak, but then instead of talking, she reached for a towel to finish the washing ritual. 

“Yen, say something,” the Witcher buzzed again, this time around supporting his plea with a rhythmic sighs. “I know I did something wrong. I know-”

“You do?” she snapped back and almost instantly recognized in herself a strange urge to revenge Avallac’h and his buttocks. Or maybe that was something else entirely? “You were supposed to spend this morning with me. You promised. Instead you end up in the forest and shoot innocent people in the limbs?”

Geralt didn't reply. 

Yennefer placed the towel next to the soap bar and moved towards the fireplace. She reached her hands out towards the fire and enjoyed for a bit the pleasant warm before speaking again.

“It's not funny, Geralt,” she started again, much calmer now. “You pierced one of the arteries. You’re lucky he did not bleed to death. The worst isn’t over yet. You could make him an impotent man. What were you thinking?”

Geralt did not explain.

“That's not even the point,” she hissed and took in her hands one of the empty copper pots which lied supported on the brick wall of the fireplace.

“What is then?” the Witcher asked, still standing in the other corner of the room. 

_ Are you going to stand like this or will you freaking help me, _ she cursed under her breath but didn't say aloud. She dragged the pot towards much bigger and fuller one and began to sink it in gently, but quite quickly the weight of the water took it under the surface.

“Our wedding,” she replied. 

The bottoms of the pots met each other, releasing a muted, metallic sound. Yennefer was about to try to retrieve it when Geralt unglued himself from the wall and pre-empted her.

“We still have enough time for that meeting in Toussaint,” he said, cringing when his hands started to dive under the ice-cold water. “Frankly speaking it's just formality. They said they'd give it to us anyways.”

“I know.”

The Witcher reached and then almost pulled the pot out. “What is it then?” he said, clambering towards the stove. 

“I don't want to.”

“Well, that's new.” He placed the pot on the stove and halted for a moment, glancing at her. “You don't want to marry?”

“I do want to marry,” she assured him but without a hint of enthusiasm. She felt almost guilty and it frustrated her. “Castel Ravello was however your idea. So was that whole white wedding thing. I was willing to comply, to survive the awkwardness and all the nonsense linked to it but I had more than enough time to think about it this morning and-”

“We can't have a tiny ceremony,” Geralt grunted. “We discussed it. I really don't want people to feel offended.”

“People?” she chuckled, skimming through the collection of the herbs hanging above the fireplace. She found without trouble some salvia or rosemary, and then a lonely twig of berberis - enough for Avallac’h‘s bath. “So anything I feel or want isn't important? Mood of  _ your _ guests is?”

“I didn't say that, but our wedding isn't our decision only.”

“This I know,” she said, throwing the herbs into the pot and bit too sour than she wanted to be. “Haven't you realised we had no control over our lives from the very beginning? From day one there was always something wrong. I thought Toussaint would change it but it seems nothing can.”

“You piece of shit,” yelled Eskel, loudly shutting the door after himself and moving fastly in their direction. “You fucking rat. Are you happy?”

The white-haired Witcher did not have time to ask questions. Before either of them knew what was going on, he was lying on the floor with his hands pressed protectively to his nose. Eskel who knocked the Witcher down stood above him, panting like a wild animal. His tightened fists suggested otherwise but Yennefer knew the worst was over.

“You don't love her,” started the dark-haired Witcher, pausing between every word. “She wanted to be with you and you rejected her. So stop ruining her life. You have no right to do that to her, to treat her like this. She’s not your possession. You hear me? Leave her alone or I’ll make sure you will.”

 

* * *

 

 

Accordingly with her suspicions, Yennefer found Triss in the bedroom the Sorceress shared with Eskel. Just as she suspected, she caught her red-handed, inclined over a suitcase on the bed and stuffing it with her belongings. Nothing in the Magicians actions had surprised her and how could it possibly had? 

Yennefer passed the threshold and closed the door after herself. She didn’t try be quiet. Triss spotted her presence almost instantly. A pair of unnaturally glassy eyes fixed on her, hardly masked by the equally unnatural shade of redness at the Sorceress’ cheeks.

“You came here to feast on the view, didn’t you?” Triss hissed, before hiding herself behind the only chair in the room. Her awkward movements made the ivory-pink fur coat hanging from it fell. The Enchantress tried to pick it up, just as awkwardly.

Yennefer moved closer to the centre of the room where the chair and Triss were. The other Sorceress hissed again, resembling more and more an enraged cat. She did not yield back and couldn’t tell herself why.

“I will leave,” she started, picking from the ground one of Triss’s endless stockings, “when you tell why my beloved fiancé got beaten up.”

Triss looked at her questioningly. 

“Eskel broke Geralt’s nose. He was also quite plain in explaining his reasons, which is why I came here.”

Triss nodded and took a seat on the bed. Yennefer spotted that the Sorceress’s hands weren't empty. She clutched in it a piece of fabric that as she suspected was supposed to be an undershirt - was supposed to, because the creased cloth ceased to resemble it anymore.

“I made a mess, didn’t I?” she said suddenly, sniffing like a rabbit with a particularly nasty runny nose. Her words were more a plea than a statement Yennefer noticed.

“You did,” she replied. “What do you expect me to say, Triss?”

“Nothing,” sighed Triss, crossing her legs. Her white chiffon nightgown moved up enough to expose a particularly ugly burn scar. The Enchantress must have been got used to it by now. She covered it up with no looking and almost without delay. “I didn’t fool him, you know. I really love him.”

Yennefer wasn't sure if that was an answer to her question or something the Magician simply felt like saying. Triss went silent and came back to sorting the pile of clothes lying on the bed. She retrieved from it another chiffon nightgown, this time around in a shade of carnation pink. 

“I had to finish it,” Triss added, placing the piece of clothing in the suitcase and just when Yennefer begun to suspect the chat had languished. “I love him but it could not end any other way. There's no other way.”

“If you say so,” she replied, not hiding lack of emotions.

“I really love him.”

“Well, you weren't particularly good in showing it,” she snapped, running her fingertips along the complicated floral motif on the stocking that somehow was still in her hands. The black eye of blue jay was staring at her from the fabric, unflinching and dead. 

The way in which she had done it was supposed to ensure her former friend that her words had little to do with compassion and likely excelled at its job. She cursed under her breath seeing the other Sorceress’s lips bend into a horseshoe. 

As always, thought Yennefer with reproach, seeing Triss now properly hyperventilate. She does something stupid and then hides her head in the sand while others do the donkey work for her. On other occasions, Yennefer was the one obligated to talk some sense into her, to make sure her decisions were at least a bit reasonable. They had been friends after all. 

They had been. That had stopped because that was what Triss had chosen.

“You're unbelievable,” she snorted. “Fuckin’ unbelievable. It's not you who has the right to look for comfort. No, my dear. He was honest with you while you played with his feelings. You made a decision, so at least be a bit consistent.”

“I'm trying but it's hard.”

“That Triss,” said Yennefer, making a step back, “is not my problem.”

She took another step and then another, ignoring completely now-desperate sobbing of her former friend.

“Yenna, please don’t go,” Triss whispered when she was halfway to the door.

Yennefer took a deep breath and turned around. Triss was glancing her her, visibly fighting back the waves of tears. 

“What I was supposed to do, Yenna?” the auburn-haired Sorceress asked, so calmly she almost managed to fool Yennefer it wasn't an attempt of emotional blackmail. “I love him but I’m afraid. I’m afraid he’ll notice it like others did… That he will figure out I don’t deserve it.  _ Him _ . That he will figure out I’m worthless. Yenna, I have not yet met a man that wanted to stay.”

Yennefer sighed.

“Please, Yenna.”

She crossed the distance between them and took a seat beside Triss on the mattress. Neither of the two was raring to be the one to start. For a good moment, the only noise Triss’s breath, rapid and shallow but also gradually calming down.

“Geralt says he loves you,” she begun after a while, more and more angry at herself. “I think he may be right. He knows him like no one else. They share all their secrets.”

“He does?” 

“He does,” she repeated. “Even when you said no, all he was thinking of was you and your happiness. He thinks Geralt is a dog in the manger and keeps you from being happy. I still hope he’s not.” She paused for a moment. “Eskel is a good man. That's said, good men disappoint and betray too but not as often as others. Still, I think he would never offer it to you if he wasn't sure. There's one question left. Do you love him?”

“I do.”

“Well, that makes it a lot easier.”

Triss brought her hand to the tip of the nose and sneezed loudly. “Yenna, don't make fun of me.”

“I'm not making fun of you,” Yennefer replied and handed the other Sorceress her own handkerchief. Triss used it almost instantly, her eyes however didn't leave Yennefer’s even for a second. “I would never make fun of this topic. As little sense as it makes, sometimes it's better to act and not to overthink it. Maybe stay naive even. I don't know… I don't think there's a way to explain it, let alone a way to predict the outcome, but sometimes taking risk pays off. Even a huge risk. You think I wasn't scared when things with Geralt got serious? I was terrified, but I also knew how it felt to see him move on. To find out I lost my chance, to witness someone else take my place.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Well, Eskel is downstairs.”

“Not for that,” her former friend mumbled, folding the used handkerchief into a tiny triangle, “for other things.”

“It's been and gone. Apologies won't make it any better or worse.”

“I know they won’t. It's just,” she paused, her fingers pressed the cloth hard to her thigh. Then her cornflower-blue eyes fixed on Yennefer’s again. “I’ve never apologised to you.”

“You don't need to.”

“But I want to. I was a terrible friend to you.”

Yennefer set her eyes on one of Eskel’s shirt hanging on the open door of the closet. It differed significantly from the majority in Geralt’s collection. The fabric was almost snow-white despite the signs of mending and button stitching and oppositely to Geralt’s shirts, it was faultlessly ironed. 

“How did it happen? You and Eskel?” she asked, surprised by her own nosiness.

“I invited him to Pont Vanis to help with a katakan in the castle. Tankred’s order.”

“That doesn't explain how you ended up in the bed together.”

“That my dear,” said Triss, much more alive than before, “was the effect of a glass of wine too much from my side. Then we stopped requiring wine to feel that way. Then the winter came and Lan Exeter. Eskel being Eskel haven't seen himself in a committed relationship, so we split. To our luck, the snow melted and along with it our insecurities. Then it started to be amazing. We've made love every night in the last eight months.”

“Am I supposed to feel jealous?” Yennefer chuckled. “Responsible Eskel got scared, who would have thought?”

“Yenna, I know you'll never forgive me. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness but I’m here if you want to talk.”

“You know?”

“Nenneke,” said Triss and reached for her suitcase. Yennefer glanced subtly inside but she was more interested in the decision the Sorceress clearly made than its content. “She was pretty discrete but I figured it out nevertheless. She still thinks it can be pregnancy, but I agree, it is very unlikely. Not that I’ve seen many sorceresses with hydatidiform mole but it's still way more probable.  Nevermind. How do you feel?”

“How can I feel?” she replied and took a look at the lonely pair of Eskel’s moccasins in the closet, again being impressed by the level of the Witcher or Triss’ neatness. “In the best case, they're going to cut everything out. In the worst, it’s just the beginning of the problems.”

“You know for sure?”

“I gained in the correct places and don’t keep food for longer than an hour. I took three blood tests. Besides I could not conceive the last time I checked. Sounds convincing enough?”

“Have you decided when and where?”

“Yes,” she said, going through a vast collection of belts, all rolled neatly, most likely for space saving purposes. “Druids seem to have best reputation in treatment of molar pregnancy. Who even came up with this stupid name? Nevermind. In two weeks time, I'll have the surgery. Then the recovery. By April and the wedding I should be alright again. I won't even have a scar; as if nothing happened.”

“Is Geralt coming with you?”

“Gods no.”

“We can arrange it in Kovir if you wish.” Triss jumped up from the mattress. Yennefer signed seeing the closet doors close. “We have two really good surgeons. And you'd always have someone to talk to. We would do some more testing before the surgery, just to make sure it is really essential. Excuse my candor, but I really think you shouldn't go through that alone.”

“Frankly this is all I want now, Triss. I want the surgery and I want to go through it alone.”

“I don't believe you.” 

“Better start to.”

She was telling the truth. The illness and the surgery while should have lightened fear in her, made her surprisingly soppy instead, reminded about memories she wished she had forgotten forever. The tall mountain of childhood years started to place a shadow on reality again, redefining it, setting  its limits. Not to mention the other issue. 

Yennefer had not let her body fool her for even a moment. Indeed, it took her a while to notice the symptoms, but then she hadn't let them give her hope for something different even briefly. Still these extra four inches in her waist were hard to ignore and so were the thoughts and speculations they brought to mind. Hypothetical questions and constructs they made seem so attractive and that would ultimately never become anything solid.

“Stop thinking about it,” Triss snapped. “I know it’s hard but you can’t think about it, especially not like this. Not now. And not all is lost. Having children isn’t only about passing your genetic material. There’s much more needed. You have Geralt.”

“What does he have to do with it?” Yennefer chuckled, now for a change fixing her eyes on the bouquet of pink roses and a pair of golden earrings on the bedside table. 

“Everything,” Triss replied with confidence. “The very same reason I am not a mother yet. I want to have someone to complain to about morning sickness and stretch marks. I want to feel happier than ever when the baby kicks for the first time, when he or she is born. To bring them up with someone who loves them as much as I do. Nature gives children two parents for a reason.”

“Those priceless fathers,” started the dark-haired Sorceress, “often stop to be so priceless when the woman gives birth to fourth girl in row. Or one of the children looks surprisingly a lot like the neighbour, or is handicapped in some way. If every woman was still waiting for the perfect man, we as a genus would be long gone. And nothing compares to holding your newborn baby in your arms. Nothing else matters then. Loneliness. Pain. Nothing.”

“But dreaming of perfect family isn’t forbidden, is it?”

Yennefer came back to all those days, to every morning when she could not drag herself out of bed, tired after another night of terrible nausea and not once more than that. And what if she wasn’t alone back then? What if the circumstances were different? More favourable ones. 

She would have told Geralt the first moment she had known and from that moment onward everything would have been much easier. They would be calm and patient. She would take it slow at least in the first week or two, getting carried away in seeking for new garments rather than new concealing spells. Then things would come back to normal for some time. Well, if one can call normal their cyclical meltdowns over nursery, pets, the length of Yennefer’s break from the work, Nenneke’s attempt to rule their little kingdom and other things that in this moment felt impossibly distant. They would have spent Yule in Kaer Morhen, quite likely using it as a great opportunity to announce. Then the spring would come and the time for delivery. They would have argued again whether Geralt should be present in the room when it happens. She would be against it at first but then when the pain kicks in, she would likely not care. They would waste a week at least, looking for a name for  _ her - _ another, tinier Ciri. They would notice that the answer was right before their eyes and the name should begin with C, like Celeste, Cecily or Cybil. They would go with Clara.

“No, it is not,” she whispered.

 

* * *

 

 

At first she was afraid he had changed his mind. Then, when they reached the ground floor, she grew more and more convinced he would not want to speak to her at all after all these, most likely guided by his hurt pride. By the kitchen door, she was sure he would be gone, but Eskel did not fail to surprise her this time as well. He sat on the tiny stool next to an identical one which Geralt was occupying. His face was turned in the other witcher’s direction, perhaps to allow better investigation of Nenneke’s actions.

“Your nose looks alright but the brow. Two stitches,” commented the Archpriestess, pressing the wound dressing to Geralt’s temple. “Did you intend to kill him? I haven’t a clue what’s wrong with you lately. It wasn’t even an hour since I finished patching Avallac’h. This testosterone storm needs to cease - you hear me.”

“Yes, we hear you,” replied Geralt, his voice sounded a bit muffled. “Believe me Nenneke, nobody planned it.”

“Sorry, Geralt,” said Eskel, hissing loudly as his knuckles finally got some attention from the Archpriestess. “I got carried out. I promise. It won't happen again. Never fought over a woman and won't start now.”

“No offence taken,” replied the white-haired Witcher. “Have a guest, I believe.”

He had indeed. Yennefer emerged from behind one of the endless pillars in the kitchen and not long after her Triss. Eskel spotted her almost instantly. 

She froze for a moment when he rose from his seat and begun to move in her direction but it turned out to be totally unnecessary. His eyes and smile betrayed anything but anger or disappointment.

“Were you crying?” he more stated than asked, standing now only inches away from her.

Triss nodded. The neatly prepared speech she kept revising in her head all at once disappeared, leaving her confused and scared.

“Are you better now?” Eskel asked again. 

“It depends,” she blurted in reply, praying in spirit she would have enough courage to say those words. And she found it, praising her stars for letting her do things right just this once.

“Eskel will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

It felt so in reach when she had finally said it. And then in the warmth of Eskel’s embrace, she started to recall what Yennefer had said. And she wasn’t afraid at all.

 

* * *

 

 

“For Eskel. If you could get there, anyone can,” said Lambert with a vast smile on his thin lips and a glass of wine in his hand. “Seriously man, I thought it was a miracle when you lost virginity but this...”

“For Eskel and Triss,” repeated the Archpriestess, almost sitting the youngest of Witchers down with her stare. “Enough of those toasts for now. You’ll get more than enough of them in the months to come. Talking of which, maybe you could organise your wedding along with Yennefer and Geralt, it would speed things up.”

“That would be great.” Smiled Triss in reply, her words could not contain more lies. It was barely an hour since their engagement but Nenneke managed already to come up with at least ten different plans and suggestions, three of which the Sorceress classified as red flags for her reign in the household. The first item on the wedding list became then the discussion with Yennefer on how to keep the Archpriestess at the safe distance. 

“There’s a free spot in Castel Ravello,” Geralt suggested out of the blue. “Early September as far as I recall. May make sense to ask if they gave it to someone already. It's quite expensive but they take care of almost everything. After Yennefer, I'm pretty sure they are able to satisfy everyone.”

“Have you managed to take care of your own reservation?” Nenneke cut in.

“No,” Yennefer slurred, before taking another bite of her brisket. “Geralt was in the mood for some fresh air instead. He will deal with it tomorrow. On his own, while I spend the quality time with our daughter as we had it planned. And I won’t accept any negotiations on this one.”

“Geralt?” asked the Archpriestess in the tone which seriousness Triss was beginning to understand, and more importantly its value.  She likely wasn’t the only one. The other Sorceress who until now hadn’t seemed to be particularly interested in the conversation, suddenly became more vivid. 

“He will do it, Nenneke,” the raven-haired Sorceress blurted. “He has no other way. Eskel should keep him company. We in turn can focus on bringing the old baths back to life. Don’t know how you ladies but my bones would use some extra pampering. Triss do you have any plans?”

“Me?” asked Triss, utterly surprised Yennefer plans included her at all. “No. I don't think so.”

“Good, you're coming with us.”

 

* * *

 

 

“They look nice, don't they?” Geralt started, joining Yennefer in her contemplation at the balcony. His hands as often lately found their way to her waist, pulling her close to him.

The Sorceress held her breath, unable to shake the feeling he would notice it.  _ No, he could not possibly know.  _

“They do,” she replied after a good while, letting her guard down completely. The high-pitched squeal of Triss and not much quieter laughter of Eskel reached them from the backyard below. 

_ Eskel, do that again and-  _

The auburn-haired Sorceress didn't have a time to finish, suddenly scooped by her fiance.

“Curious what would YOU do if I hit you with a snowball,” Geralt asked, playfully.

“You don't want to know,” she purred in reply, watching the engaged couple now make out in front of them, their hands time and time again tried to visit the spots they should never touch in public. Her eyes focused then on the rabbit fur decorating the hood of Triss’s jacket. Rabbits indeed.

“Stop whatever you are doing, I’m coming,” grunted Ciri, about to conquer the last set of stairs separating her from Yennefer and the Witcher.

“Do what, sweetie?” asked the Sorceress, reaching for the tray with jugs of mulled wine the girl brought with her.

“Triss and Eskel. They make me wanna puke.”

“You exaggerate,” Geralt muttered in his casual baritone. “Thought they are relatively reserved in this regard. It’s a huge moment for them. Let them cherish it for a bit. If you only knew what Yen and I did when-” 

Yennefer’s elbow finished quicker than anticipated the last bit of Geralt’s story. 

“I believe there are parts of other people’s lives… A very intimate parts of other people’s lives that no one should know about.”

“Must agree,” Ciri sighed and hopped in on the stone guardrail. She reached for the basket of tangerines she brought along with the wine, took one and wiped it with the fabric of her jumper. “Would not want others to know about my shit. It would be embarrassing. Humiliating in many ways. Not that there is much to talk about.”

“Really?” asked the Witcher, enclosing his fist around the jug Yennefer passed him. “Nothing interesting in your life?”

The girl placed the peeled fruit in her mouth.

“Not that I know,” she slurred.

Geralt swung gently on his feet which instantly drew the Enchantress's attention.

“You sure? Really nothing? Not a tiniest thing you'd like to discuss?”

“Stop interrogating her, Geralt,” she chuckled, patting his back gently. To her bewilderment the atmosphere did not improve much. “What is it?”

“She’s pregnant, Yen.”

Ciri burst out laughing.

“It's not funny, Ciri,” Geralt mumbled, now for a change grumpier than usual. The jug in his hand got emptied not long after. Yennefer felt a strong urge to follow his example. “You've been nailed. The game is over.”

Ciri reached for another fruit. The ritual of peeling began again.

“I'm not pregnant,” she blurted, not looking at either of them even briefly. 

“You're an adult,” Geralt started again. The adrenaline running in Yennefer’s veins was making her feel weak at her knees already. “No one’s going to blame you. All you can expect from us is understanding. Just tell us the truth. Is this why Avallac’h is here?”

“Gods no,” replied the girl, cringing. “And chill down. I'm not.”

“Sure you’re not,” he chuckled but got serious right after. “We know you are, so let's not make it even more ridiculous that it is already. Avallac’h has nothing to do with it? Who are you protecting then?”

The Witcheress tore the fruit into two halves and passed one of them the Sorceress. “One last time, I swear I’m not pregnant.”

“Someone decided to try the adult life with you, so now make them take the responsibility for it. He didn't know how to protect himself, he shouldn't have done it in the first place. As I said, I don’t blame you. Just tell us the truth. You're old enough to have sex but not enough to be honest we the closest people you have?”

“I’m not pregnant, Geralt.”

“We will help you. But if there's a chance you can get some help from the father too-”

“There’s nothing to help me with.”

“Geralt!” Yennefer managed to finally interrupt. “I think she would have admitted to that by now if that was the case. How did you find out?”

“Eskel mentioned the blood tests. All came back positive. We can't leave it like this.”

“Congratulate that person from me,” said the girl and reached her hand for another citrus fruit. “It’s not mine. Want me to show you my forearms or better the bump I don't have? It would be so in your style. Is this why you shot Avallac’h? Because he’s a threat to my womb? And what now, I shall be afraid to have sex for the rest of my life because you would make me marry anyone who accidentally knocks me up?”

“Yes. If they don't know how to act like men themselves.”

“What is manly in your opinion?” Ciri said in a rather opinionated manner. “A house with a garden, husband and a dog?”

“In your case - yes,” the Witcher murmured. 

“The parish priest forgets that he was a parish clerk. How many women did you sleep with before finally settling down with Yen?” 

“You’re insolent.”

“And you've lost your marbles.”

“Just don't want you to protect a moron who doesn't deserve it. I think this is exactly what's going on now. I just don’t believe you agreed to be so carefree. You know what’s at stake, what sort of future hangs over you and your potential baby. Well, if you did, then you are a moron.”

“They are mine,” Yennefer whispered. An uneasy silence fell upon them and did not want to drift away. Geralt reached for another glass and drained it, just as fast as the first one.

“Yours?” he mumbled, skimming between her face and abdomen. 

“I can explain.”

“Well,” sighed Ciri, snuggling herself to her glass. “Looks like you two have things to discuss. And Geralt, don’t do it unless you know how to protect yourself.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I knew something was off,” sighed Geralt sadly. They were back in their bedroom. Yennefer explained every detail from the last few weeks while he listened, not interrupting her monologue even once. The look on his face did not allow any insight into anything going on in his head in that moment. She was afraid to read him.

“It should be fine,” she said, completely casually,  between sips of herbal tea.  “I made an arrangement with the druids. The surgery will be in two weeks time. I'm leaving for Skellige right after Yule.”

“I'll go with you,” he stated.

The Sorceress pursed her lips and placed the cup back on its saucer. “I’m not sure whether this is a good idea. I'm not even sure they would let you in. They pull everything out through-”

“I assumed that much,” he replied and leant back on his armchair, rubbing his eyes gently with the palms of his hands.  “You're in pain and because of my sex they won't even let me anywhere near you. Just perfect. Is there anything you'd like to talk about? I won't judge. Don't even need to comment. Maybe that would help to sort it out?”

“Well, there is one thing,” she started. The Witcher’s head came back to its previous position. A pair of cat-like eyes fixed on hers, questioningly. “I was recommended to drink black tea to stop it from growing. Nenneke suggested I should not. She also wants me to wait another month. She thinks it may be… If there's really anything inside-”

“You can harm the potential baby,” Geralt finished for her. “Does she have any reasons to think you're pregnant?”

“Some. One can never be sure. If we could only somehow see what's inside.”

“Then wait or ask Triss for help. The entire Kovir is talking about their new technology.” Geralt released a long and sad sigh. “You want me to speak to Eskel, right?” he asked, completely unpuzzled.

“If you don't mind.”

 

* * *

 

 

It felt good, utterly and bloody good, thought Triss with a note of weird satisfaction. With the day officially gone, Triss and Eskel had returned to their bedroom. After their first sessions of love making as the two engaged people which whereas brief was also perhaps not the last on that night, the Sorceress and the Witcher had moved to the bathtub and hadn't left it for good half an hour already.

“It looks like something a physician should see,” said the Witcher unexpectedly, biting gently her toes supported on the wooden walls right next to his head. “Your feet are just as wrinkled as those funny dogs we've seen in Zerrikania.”

“Good you remember them,” said the Sorceress and splashed some water in his direction. Eskel’s teeth disappeared, replaced by his skilful fingers.  “You promised we would take in one.”

The Witcher left her right leg alone and moved to massaging the other.

“Think you got me wrong,” he explained, paying extra attention to corn she had  gained after the ice skating the day before.  “Said I'd rather die than have one those eyesores in my house. Hairless cats, dogs with the tongues allowing to lick their balls with no need of even tilting the head - these people are sick.”

“Point taken. I'm not getting a pet for Yule,” the Sorceress interrupted him and splashed again. “First compromise from my side.”

“Well, if we're discussing it already-” 

“You did not,” she chuckled. Eskel’s mouth began another attack on her, this time expanding the affected territory to most of her ankle and shin.

“He's ten weeks old, ginger and waits for you in Lan Exeter. Oh course, nothing will replace old Butterscotch and his amazing antics, like puking into my slippers or chewing  on my new set of gloves, but I think this kitten stands out in his own way.”

“Wow.”

“Yes, wow,” repeated the Witcher after her. “Wasn't sure if you would accept me but I thought you would not reject a cat. You won't, will you?”

“No,” she replied, placing her foot gently to his chest, her toes trying to grab the modest hair he had there. “And I won’t reject you. Never. What I did earlier wasn't about you. It was about me, about what I was afraid of.”

Eskel glanced at her as if not understanding. The Sorceress rearranged her position a little.

“See Eskel,” she continued. “I've tried many times and it never worked out. Not with Geralt, not with anyone. I was always quite unlucky in this regard. Believe me, you don’t know with how many men I was before you. How many of them broke my heart, flouted me and humiliated. I just stopped believing I’m the lucky type.”

“What if I was lucky?” he said and got himself back to his feet. He left the bathtub and reached for one of his endless bags, retrieving from it a tiny book.

“Triss, promise me you won't get mad,” he asked, giving it to her. “Page eighteen.”

The Enchantress did as she was told. Inside the book, between browned pages sat a dried coronet of daisies. She knew that coronet.

“Is this the one-” 

“The one you made when you were here for the first time many years ago?”

“How?”

“Took it from your room after you had left. Placed in a  book, then another. It was stolen once along with my other belongings. Sort of the only thing that made me follow the thief. He didn't get much from me that day. The thing with me is… What were the chances you’d even look at me in the first place? How unlikely it was we would ever get here, to this very moment. I can tell you- they were none, but we’re here and I’m very happy.” He paused and chuckled. “You must think I'm pathetic now. Probably, shouldn’t have said you all these.”

The Sorceress leant in and pressed her lips to his. “No,” she whispered, getting as close to him as the bathtub allowed her to. “I think you should have told me long ago.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of knocking interrupted them. Eskel came back to his senses first, the Sorceress not long after. 

“Stay here,” he mumbled then, leaving a chaste kiss to her forehead. 

She purred in disapprobation but wasn’t willing to move in the slightest. She sank deeper into the sheets, willing to forget completely about the chill outside it. And she was close to achieving it if not Eskel’s prolonged absence and the weirdly familiar voice coming from the other section of the room.

She got up and reached for her nightgown. 

“Hi,” she offered, joining the Witcher and Geralt. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No,” replied the white-haired Witcher. “Well, sort of. I need your help with something.”

 

***

 

“This single date looks very lonely,” mumbled Geralt, taking a look at one of endless forms the Sorceress got from Triss to fill in. 

The room they were in was rather big, contained a row of white benches, matching nicely the blue and mint walls. There was a collection of books and hand-written posters and brochures. A child-friendly corner with wooden toys in many shapes from casual triangles and cubes, to fruits and cooking utensils. A set of violets in dark blue pots at the windowsill. Unsurprisingly however, Yennefer’s description of their love life was what drew most of the Witcher attention. 

“They need it to assess how far along I can be,” she replied, not letting herself be too distracted. “I'm quite grateful that with Vengerberg, the wedding and your contracts we didn't have much room for that lately. At least dating isn't that hard. Besides, I'm pretty sure Triss knows what you're capable of. There's no need to prove her anything.”

“Will you ever stop being angry?” 

“I'm not angry,” she muttered, starting the last of sheets. “Don't have anything to do, read the posters.”

“Took a look at the ectopic pregnancy one. How people can even think about having children after reading it?”

“Don't know,” she sighed and wrote down her real age right next to four group the form suggested. “Never had such problem.”

Geralt cleared his throat, took the piece of paper from her hands and placed it along with the others. “After this is over,” he said slowly and looking her deeply in the eyes, “we will get a proper holiday. And then, just few months away from now, we will use Nenneke’s offer. By the end of next year you'll be a mum. Understood?”

“No,” she snapped in reply and came back to her previous task.

“Why not?”

“Because it's a stupid idea.” She said it as it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You may not like it. After today I'm pretty sure you don't, but Ciri will start a family soon. We'll be in laws and grandparents and I want to be prepared. This is the only thing that matters to me now. That said, I did and will always feel bad about my inability, but I do have a child already and I want to give that child everything she deserves. Do you want another one?”

Geralt delayed his reply. “I want you to be happy,” he said after a while, with no confidence whatsoever.

“I am happy. You and Ciri make me want to pull my hair out more often than not but I love you. You make me happy.”

He squeezed her hand  gently. The door to the examination room opened. 

“You're ready?” Triss asked, with her back pressed to them and a box of weird-looking utensils in her hands.

Yennefer and Geralt rose to their feet.

“Yes, let's be done with it,” mumbled the Sorceress, trying to convince herself to be brave.

 

* * *

 

 

“You're quite big so we should get a nice pictures,” commented Triss, measuring different spots at Yennefer’s abdomen and writing down the numbers in the notepad she brought with her. 

“Big?” Yennefer chuckled, looking at her curves which looked even worse than usual from the current perspective. “I look like a whale. Odds of being short.  Nenneke said I look like a model woman with a child.  Geralt was simply staring. Right, darling?”

Geralt grunted under his breath, his head constantly turned towards the window and the darkness outside made him resemble a guilty dog. His poor eye contact only strengthened the impression.

“He's out of his comfort zone,” observed the Sorceress, petting his arm gently. “You can wait outside if you want to.”

“Eskel was the same,” Triss giggled and reached for a box of something that resembled tiny mirrors. She glued them to Yennefer’s skin in the locations she had measured not long earlier. “He was afraid to even pass the building. Now he's almost a part of the furniture. You've seen the waiting room? It's all his work.” She stopped for a moment, both the talking and decorating Yennefer. “I think we're ready. The machine uses crystals and is pretty much a modified megascope. It is though designed to give two dimensional image, for obvious reasons. It won't hurt. Promise.”

Triss went silent again, preoccupied with setting the machine into motion. She’s still not over her perfectionism, Yennefer chuckled to herself, some things just weren’t to change.

And then when the first image emerged on the big mirror, only inches away from her face, she stopped thinking, captivated by something that looked a lot like spine.  And a ribcage. Not long after, the greyish mess formed also a tiny head and something in the shape of neck.

The auburn-haired Sorceress took off one of the mirrors and the picture changed but wasn't less interesting than before. The thing was now brutally turned towards them and with great effort tried to cover the strange-looking face with its hands.

“Someone’s not in mood for guests tonight,” she heard Geralt try to communicate with her telepathically, his hand closed around hers. 

“I don't see anything suspicious,” Triss snapped not long after. “The sacs and placenta look normal. No signs of cysts or haemorrhage. It's just vascularised as it should be at this stage. Left ovary looks good. Right is completely atrophied. The fetus itself is the right size for…” she looked at the form. “Fifteen weeks and one day. Wish more people were so accurate.”

“Is it fine?” Geralt asked, visibly more relaxed than before. Yennefer, usually the tougher of the two, that evening wasn't ready for asking questions. 

“It is. Happy little acrobat like all at this stage. I would like to keep an eye on them though. For now an appointment every week, then we can think about something less restrictive. It's a viable pregnancy. Any idea how it could happen? Also I must ask, but do you want me to take a look at internal organs?”

“That would be very appreciated,” said the Witcher and glanced at Yennefer, smirking. She still remained quiet.

“That's the head as you could figure out already. See this line across the skull? It’s the outline of the brain. It looks good to me,” explained Triss, tapping her finger in the mirror. The fetus on the screen seemed to somehow perceive her motions and stretched its tiny limbs only to come back to the previous position shortly after. 

The Enchantress pulled away another mirror, changing the view again. This time the tiny creature presented itself from the side, its tiny face still protected from the tiresome intruders. The episode of silence started again.

“Kidneys look good, no signs of fluid retention. Legs and arms are the right length. Abdomen looks perfectly normal too. We're looking for white dots. They suggest problems. Heart-”

She stopped at the heart.

“Heart is a little bit asymmetric,” the Witcher finished for her. “My knowledge is limited but I think there should be four holes. Two bigger for ventricles and two smaller for- Three are smaller. One of the ventricles is a bit too small.”

Triss moved closer to the screen. She did not reply but Yennefer knew the answer.

“It’s not a problem, right?” Geralt broke the uneasy silence. “Even if they’re uneven? You're both sorceresses. How hard can it be to recreate a missing part of heart?”

“It's not hard,” the dark-haired Sorceress said, fixing her eyes with anger on Triss’s motionless posture. “It's impossible. Magicians can repair organs but can't create them de novo.”

“We can be mistaken,” Triss mumbled, switching the angle again. From all four, that one was least interesting. “It's barely fifteen weeks anything can happen.”

“How many similar scans you see every week, Triss?” she replied, fidgeting a little. “It’s different from them. We both know it’s not more than an artifact.”

“What's the prognosis then?” asked Geralt, visibly less enthusiastic than just moments earlier. “Do you know any other kids with this condition?”

Triss hesitated way too long for Yennefer’s liking. “We had one girl few months ago. She died after two days. Tissaia described more in The Poisoned Source. Congenital heart defects used to be very common among babies born within the mage society, third only to microcephaly and renal agenesis. They tried treatment with prostaglandin but it wasn't very effective.”

“So it's fatal,” the Witcher more observed than asked. 

“Of course it's fatal, Geralt. Half of the heart is missing. How is it supposed to work in your opinion?”

Geralt did not explain.

“The baby's heart is very tiny. It's easy to make a mistake,” Triss continued, completely ignorant to Yennefer’s reasoning. The image in the mirror changed again. “You won't deliver until late May. It still has plenty of time to growth. Besides, you should not let go. Not now when we know it's possible in the first place. You can always-”

“Get pregnant again?” Yennefer chuckled, deep down she was close to crying. “Because now for a change we should try how it feels to have a child with no kidneys or with an omphalocele? Both seemed to be a good part of Tissaia’s rationale behind compulsory sterilization.”

Triss did not reply. The creature they were about to lose finally exposed its face to them, yawning and smiling at them, perhaps totally unaware of the fate hanging above it,hanging above them. Yennefer looked away.

“This pregnancy is a fact and we can't change it,” she started as composed as she could be. “It's sad and tragic, and it's inevitable. We'll have this baby and will lose it. It will hurt but we won't yield because it's not our fault. Because we're victims here, just as much as this baby is. Trying again however, knowing what can happen, what we would be gambling with… I finally see why we shouldn't have children.”

 

* * *

 

 

Her portal pierced the room from the side of the bathroom. It wasn’t anything Triss had planned, but as soon as she had landed, she knew it the right decision. The room sunk in the dark ever so gently. The moonlight sneaking through the opened window shutters had the colour of honey, backlighted the sea of thick, juicy snowflakes pouring from the sky like from a pierced pillow. 

The Sorceress closed the shutters and left the bathroom, heading slowly to the other part of the room. She was expecting Eskel to sleep soundly but the Witcher had outsmarted her. A pair of cat eyes similar to nancre in their texture was set on her and followed her every movement, likely for quite some time. 

“Did I wake you up?” she asked but never lived to hear his reply. All she managed to do was to close the distance between them and let herself melt in Eskel’s embrace. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you hungry?” Yennefer heard Geralt mumble as he swaddled her up on their bed with countless blankets. The Sorceress followed his movements with patience, the perfect bed-fireplace-table triangle he kept tracing across the room with a admirable obsticancy. She did not say a word. “Maybe you want something to drink? Apple juice? A book to read?”

“I don’t want anything,” she replied at last but Geralt clearly wasn’t listening. Before long a tray with a mug of apple juice and some brioches from the dinner was laying next to her on the bed. Geralt who was the only thing she wished to have close, however, was still out of reach and now started a hundredth circle. 

“Could you please stop?” she hissed unable take it any longer.

Her words had not gone unnoticed and Geralt joined her on the mattress not long after. 

“Sorry,” he admitted, now for a change doggedly rubbing his hands together. Yennefer realised that whatever was going on with him was not to go away anytime soon.

“I think we should talk about what’s going to happen,” she started sternly.

Geralt nodded but against her hopes did not say anything.

“We have to decide when to put an end to all  _ this. _ What to do. Whether we're ready to wait till May. I don't think it's wise. I don't feel I would be able to... I dread to think how bad it would feel to feel them move inside me, to hold them in my arms knowing what will happen next.”

The thought alone made Yennefer’s stomach do funny things. Lactation that would follow the delivery was what she was thinking off mostly. How was she supposed to be alright if her own body would need to go through the mourning process as well? Giving birth now could spare her that.

She recalled also a case she had assisted in many years ago. What looked like a casual miscarriage turned out to be something way dimmer that day. The baby was born alive and couldn't die for another two hours. Could not was the right term. The boy fought for his every breath. But that baby was due in just two months, their had much more and they were ill. 

“To be frank, I would survive each just to know the baby would suffer less,  but which one is less painful? Which one would be less humiliating for them?”

And she was angry on Geralt for not arguing with her, for not coming up with a clever idea to contradict her, to show off his immense witcher optimism. She was angry he didn't offer hope she had so much desired. He was calm. Hopelessly calm. 

“Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

She untangled herself from the snares of blankets and grovled to him. Geralt did not protest much when she crawled onto his lap, pinning him down and digging her boney knees into everything on her way, her lips pressed to his hair and forehead did not stop leaving kisses. 

Slowly, Geralt’s hands started to seek physical contact as well, coiled around her frame ever so gently, bent her, until he finally nestled himself against her.

“It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he mumbled, snuggling his cheek to her midsection.

“It wasn't,” Yennefer echoed some time later.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is... almost exactly a year later. Sorry, for the plot-twist. :/


End file.
